POEMS, 


BY 


MARY     W.     HALE 
M 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM    D.    TICKNOR 

1840. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1840, 

BY   WILLIAM   D.    T1CKNOR, 
in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


PRESS  OF 

WILLIAM  A.  HALL  &  CC. 
21  Devonshire  street. 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  friends,  living  and  departed,  whose 
kindness  will  forever  endear  the  remembrance 
of  a  recent  residence  among  them,  these  pages 
are  affectionately  and  gratefully  inscribed  by 

their 

AUTHOR. 

Boston,  1840. 


M 


6  CONTENTS. 

The  one  hundred  thirty-ninth  Psalm, 50 

|  Universal  Adoration, 53 

>'  God  nigh  to  the  Penitent, 54 

.  To  the  Departed, 

"For  Auld  Lang  Syne," 56 

"  Life  has  no  charm  for  me," 57 

;  "  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,"       ...       -  58 

The  faded  Flower, 59 

"  Je  ne  change  qu'en  mourant," *  60 

Communion  Hymn,    --------  62 

To  the  Memory  of  a  Young  Lady, 63 

The  Sower  and  his  Seed,   -                64 

Remember  me, 66 

Jephthah's  Vow, 67 

July  4, 1838, 71 

Midnight, 

Farewell, 74 

"  Spes  mea  in  Deo,"   -------- 

The  last  Words  of  the  Son  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,      -        -  76 

Immortality, 

"  Thy  memory  we  will  keep," 79 

To  a  Young  Lady, 

Aspiration,    - ---81 

The  Musical  Box, 

The  Death  of  Leonidas, 84 

The  twelfth  of  Ecclesiastes, 86 

"  Where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty," 

In  Heaven  "  the  weary  are  at  rest,"    -        -        -        -  .      - 

Sunday  School  Festival,  1837, 92 

Evening  Hymn, 

Dedication  Hymn, 95 

To , 96 

"  Our  Father  which  art  in  Heaven," 97 

The  sixty-fifth  Psalm, 99 

"  They  who  seek  me  early  shall  find  me,"       -        -        -        -  100 

Hymn, 101 

The  April  Shower,         -  

To  the  Memory  of  Felicia  Hemans,  -        -       -        - 

Early  Piety, 106 

Fame, 108 


CONTENTS.  7 

Hymn  for  the  Consecration  of  Mount  Pleasant,                    -  109 

The  first  Tenant  of  Mount  Pleasant,        -  111 

The  Promise  of  Jesus, 112 

-  Christmas  Hymn, 

For  the  opening  of  a  Sunday  School, 115 

The  Peace  of  God, 117 

To  the  Memory  of  a  near  and  dear  Friend,  -        -        -        -  118 

"  What  is  there  saddening  in  the  Autumn  Leaves  V        •  120 

'«  Come  up  hither," 121 

The  Summons  of  Death,  123 

•Victoria  at  Westminster, 126 

"  Farewell  to  my  Home," 128 

Ladies' Fair, 130 

The  Death  of  a  near  Relative, 132 

Sunday  School  Festival,  1839, 134 

"  Sorrow  not  as  those  without  hope,"         ....  135 

The  Contrast, 136 

"Upon  whom  doth  not  His  Light  arise  1"  138 

Invocation, 140 

To  the  Memory  of  Ebenezer  Bailey,  Esq.         -        -        -  141 

Lazarus, 143 

"  What  withers  on  Earth  blooms  in  Heaven,"  146 

Finden's  Tableaux,  1837, 147 

The  true  Source  of  Strength, 149 

"  He  that  overcometh  shall  inherit  all  things,"      ...  151 

To  a  beautiful  Child  of  five  years,    •  153 

To  the  Memory  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Presbmy,      -       -       -  154 

Flora's  Offering, 156 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest," 157 

The  Altars  of  a  Household, 159 

The  Past, 162 

To  a  Lady, 163 

To  Mrs.  Hemans, 164 

"  All  thy  works  shall  praise  Thee," 165 

A  Sketch, 166 

"  Dieu  est  partout," 168 

Autumn  Hymn,   .       - 169- 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant, 170 

The  Worship  of  Childhood, 172 

"  I  see  thee  still," 174 


8  CONTENTS. 

Christ  stilling  the  Tempest, 177 

"  I  ask  not  thy  smiles,"      -------  179 

"  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,"                        -  180 

To  a  sleeping  Infant, 181 

Lines  written  after  an  Ordination,         -        -   '    -       -        -  183 

"It  is  well," 184 

"  In  dreams  of  silent  night," 186 

Hymn  to  Nature,     -        -        --        -        -        --  187 

The  early  Dead, -        -        -        -  188 

An  Appeal  for  Seamen, 189 

Life, 191 

"  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was,"  -        -  192 

The  Bridal, 194 

The  Returning  Wanderer, 195 

Spring, 197 

The  Death-bed  of  Glueen  Elizabeth,         ....  199 

The  Feeding  of  the  Multitude, 202 

"  I  see  thee  not," 205 

The  Loss  of  the  Steamer  Lexington, 206 

On  the  Death  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Kirkland,  -  209 

Sabbath  Hymn, 212 

A  Mother's  Counsel, 213 

The  Son  of  God, 214 

The  Voice  of  the  Flowers,        ------  216 


POEMS. 


MAY. 

WHERE  Spring's  fair  Queen,  the  radiant  May, 
Had  strewed  with  flowers  her  dewy  way, 
Mid  her  sweet  treasures  scattered  round, 
A  bright  and  perfumed  gift  we  found. 

Each  dew-gemmed  bud  our  gardens  yield, 
Each  lowlier  flower  that  decks  the  field, 
A  fragrant  wreath  our  fingers  twine,  — 
A  gift  for  friendship's  sacred  shrine. 

A  simple  gift ;  yet  love  demands 

No  costlier  tribute  at  our  hands  : 

The  heart  that  beats  unchanged  and  free, 

Far  dearer  in  thy  sight  shall  be. 

The  living  fount,  whence  freely  flow 
Thoughts  warm  and  true  as  love  can  know, 
Though  all  unseen  its  tide  may  swell, 
My  strain  is  weak  its  strength  to  tell. 
2 


10  POEMS. 

Like  music  o'er  a  moonlit  sea, 

O !  be  thy  future  destiny  ; 

And  may  life's  yet  untrodden  bowers 

Yield  nought  but  sweet  and  thornless  flowers. 


KATHLEEN   O'MORE. 

"  MY  love !  still  I  think  that  I  see  thee  once  more  ; 
But,  alas  !  thou  hast  left  me  thy  loss  to  deplore, 
My  own  little  Kathleen,  my  dear  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'More  !  " 

Thou  art  gone  in  the  freshness  of  beauty  and  bloom, 
Mid  silence  and  darkness  to  rest  in  the  tomb  : 
Our  hearts  are  left  mourning,  my  own  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'More  ! 

The  spirit  of  beauty,  so  pure  and  so  bright, 
That  shed  round  our  pathway  love's  halo  of  light, 
Hath  fled  to  its  fountain,  my  own  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'More  ! 

Then  let  not  our  tears  for  thy  rapture  be  given ; 
Though  thy  dust  sleep  in  silence,  thy  soul  is  in  heaven 
We  weep  for  the  living,  my  own  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'More  ! 


THE    BAPTISM.  11 

When  sighs  and  when  mourning  in  joy  shall  be  hushed, 
And  sorrow's  last  fountain  of  tears  shall  have  gushed, 
Our  home  shall  be  heaven,  my  own  little  Kathleen, 

Sweet  Kathleen  O'More ! 


THE   BAPTISM. 

SHE  stands  before  her  Maker's  throne,  with  spirit  fixed 
above, 

Where  springs  Faith's  living  fount,  to  lead  that  holy  gift 
of  love  ; 

With  fervent  prayer  and  tuneful  strain  proceeds  the  sim- 
ple rite, 

That,  to  his  Master's  gathering  band,  her  infant  shall 
unite. 

What  gushing  prayers  to  Heaven  ascend  from  that  fond 

mother's  heart, 
That  his  young  soul  from  holiness  and  truth  may  ne'er 

depart ; 

But,  all  unstained  as  early  dew,  to  God  and  truth  be  given, 
A  spotless  sacrifice  to  glow  upon  the  shrine  of  heaven. 

Yes,  as  the  sacred  waters  fall  upon  his  fearless  head, 
What  thrilling  thoughts,  what  holy  hopes,  o'er  his  young 
heart  are  shed  ! 


12  POEMS. 

A  mother's  love  !  exhaustless  spring,  whence,  all  unsullied 

flow 
The  holiest  streams  of  sympathy  that  e'er  can  gush  below. 

A  mother's  heart !  change  cannot  dim,  nor  absence  quench 

the  flame 
That  glows  upon  its  hidden  shrine,  in  joy  or  grief  the 

same : 
On  earth,  its  full,  deep  meed  of  bliss  ne'er  to  the  soul  is 

given  ; 
It  asks  a  holier  home  than  earth,  —  the  paradise  of  heaven. 

*  *  *  * 

Thou   blessed  one  I  o'er  whose   fair   brow   the   mystic 

waters  fell, 
What  yearning  prayers  for  thee  and  thine,  deep  in  my 

bosom  swell : 

I  feel  the  impotence  of  words  one  kind  thought  to  ex- 
press, 
Of  all  that  swell  within  my  heart  thy  opening  life  to  bless. 

O !  may  the  morning's  fragrance  rise,  thy  grateful  meed 
to  pay, 

And  may'st  thou  consecrate  to  God  the  noon's  meridian 
ray; 

And  when  the  dews  of  evening  call  to  slumber  and  to 
rest, 

O !  may'st  thou  fearless  seek  thy  couch  as  a  fond  moth- 
er's breast. 

Thou,  to  whose  race  the  Sinless  One  the  priceless  boon 

did  give, 
To  be  the  emblem  meet  of  those  whose  souls  in  glory 

live. 


TO    MY   BROTHER.  13 

May  Heaven's  best  blessing  rest  upon  thy  young  and 

happy  head, 
And  strew  with  flowers  of  heaven's  own  hue,  the  future 

thou  must  tread. 


TO  MY  BROTHER. 

MY  brother  !  on  thy  natal  day, 
My  heart  a  sister's  meed  would  pay  : 
Thou  canst  not  read  the  thoughts  that  swell 
Fast  gushing,  from  love's  fountain  cell ; 
Yet  couldst  thou  hear  my  secret  prayer, 
Thy  name  would  be  recorded  there. 

My  brother !  Time's  fleet  wings  have  shed 
His  many  changes  o'er  each  head. 
Joy's  thrilling  whispers  have  been  heard, 
And  sorrow's  fount  of  tears  been  stirred  ; 
Yet  has  he  left  our  hearts  the  same,  — 
Still  bright,  affection's  hallowed  flame. 

Though  long  since  hand  in  hand,  we  trod 
The  pebbled  strand,  the  verdant  sod, — 
Though  Time  has  breathed  his  varied  strain, 
The  song  of  joy,  the  knell  of  pain,  — 
Though  now,  with  yearning  hearts  we  trace 
Our  sainted  mother's  vacant  place,  — 
2* 


14  POEMS. 

He  cannot  break  the  chain  of  love, 
That  links  us  to  our  home  above  : 
There  strains  of  seraph  sweetness  rise  ; 
The  smile  of  God  illumes  its  skies. 
No  tone  is  heard  of  human  wo, 
Where  joy's  rich  notes  harmonious  flow. 

And,  brother !  by  the  hope  of  heaven, 
To  cheer  our  earthly  dwelling  given, 
The  faith,  which  views  her  spirit,  where 
No  cloud  can  dim  the  holy  air, 
O !  let  us  love,  while  yet  shall  beam 
Life's  sunlight  o'er  time's  flowing  stream. 


TO   MY  SISTER. 

MY  sister  !  strange  but  hallowed  name  ! 
With  joy  I  own  thy  proffered  claim. 
Words  are  but  worthless  to  impart 
The  varied  thoughts  that  fill  my  heart. 
Yet  shall  my  feeble  strain  essay 
A  sister's  meed  of  love  to  pay. 

Welcome  !  thrice  welcome  to  my  love, 
Sent  as  an  angel  from  above 
To  cheer  my  onward  path  below, 
And  whisper  peace  mid  doubt  and  wo. 


TO    MY    SISTER.  15 

I  view  the  gracious  blessing  near, 
The  cherished  hope  of  many  a  year. 

I  greet  thee.  love  !  my  brother's  bride, 
Dearer  to  him  than  aught  beside. 
And  dear  indeed  thou  art  to  me, 
My  sister,  in  his  bride  I  see : 
A  fervent  prayer  for  thee  I  raise, 
As  love  this  simple  tribute  pays. 

O  !  may  no  gathering  cloud  of  care 
The  sweet  repose  of  love  impair  : 
May  each  unbreathed,  unwritten  dream 
In  full  fruition  brighter  beam  : 
And  should  the  chastening  tone  be  given, 
Still  be  its  word  of  promise,  —  heaven. 

May  wedded  love  thy  pathway  bless 
With  truth's  enduring  faithfulness. 
My  sister  !  could  thy  future  be 
Bright  as  the  prayer  I  raise  for  thee, 
Though  its  deep  strength  thou  canst  not  read, 
Dearest !  thou  wouldst  be  blest  indeed. 


16  POEMS. 


"SUFFER  LITTLE  CHILDREN  TO  COME  UNTO  ME.' 

LIST  to  the  Master's  gracious  voice, 
Which  bids  the  sorrowing  heart  rejoice, 
Even  though  the  tomb's  dark  portals  close 
Above  the  slumbering  form's  repose  : 
Angels  their  holy  vigils  keep 
Around  its  calm,  unearthly  sleep. 

Come  ye  around  her  couch  to  bend  : 
Faith  can  its  quickening  influence  lend. 
Look  on  the  form  reposing  there, 
In  death  so  beautifully  fair. 
Pure  temple  for  the  immortal  guest, 
Meet  type  of  heaven's  all-perfect  rest. 

What  though  your  tears  as  dew  be  shed 
Around  the  loved,  the  early  dead  ? 
What  though  no  more  that  speaking  eye 
To  greet  your  answering  gaze  be  nigh  ? 
What  though  the  gay,  glad  spring-note  be 
As  a  hushed  strain  of  memory  ? 

Has  she  not  met,  in  yon  bright  sphere, 
Those  vanished  ones,  to  love  so  dear  ? 
Was  not  the  Saviour's  blessing  shed 
As  incense  o'er  the  infant  head  ? 
"  To  me  their  sinless  souls  be  given  : 
Of  such  the  kingdom  is  of  heaven." 


SUFFER    LITTLE  CHILDREN  TO  COME  UNTO  ME.          17 

Fearless,  that  gracious  call  she  heard ; 
And,  as  the  heaven-aspiring  bird 
Plumes  joyfully  its  golden  wing, 
Mid  realms  of  purer  light  to  sing, 
So  did  her  spotless  soul  ascend, 
Before  her  Maker's  throne  to  bend. 

Life  was  to  her  a  joyous  dream  : 

She  wakes  where  heaven's  rich  glories  beam. 

Calmly,  as  to  her  earthly  rest, 

Her  fair  young  head  its  pillow  pressed  : 

The  angel-guard  ye  might  not  see, 

Nor  hear  their  strain  of  melody. 

Would  ye  recall  her  from  that  sphere, 
Though  ransomed  by  one  prayer,  one  tear  ? 
A  few  short  years  of  grief  and  pain, 
And  ye  shall  meet  your  own  again, 
Where  life's  pure  tide,  unsullied  swells, 
And  love  shall  breathe  no  sad  farewells. 


18  POEMS, 


THE   BIRTHDAY   OF  WASHINGTON. 

BLOW  ye  the  trump  of  Fame  ! 
And  raise  to  heaven  its  deathless  sound  ! 
Loud  let  it  spread  earth's  circuit  round, 

And  waft  the  one  loved  name, 
Far  as  the  sun  with  radiant  beam  hath  shone, 
Thy  sacred  name,  Immortal  WASHINGTON. 

O  glorious,  hallowed  theme, 
That  name  by  wondering  millions  blest, 
So  dear  to  every  freeman's  breast ! 

Well  may  the  poet's  dream, 
The  painter's  canvass,  and  the  marble  tell, 
Why  in  our  hearts  joy's  gushing  fountains  swell. 

A  cloud  burst  o'er  our  cherished  land ; 

True  was  each  heart  and  nerved  each  hand. 

The  young  their  parents'  blessing  sought, 

And  boldly  for  their  country  fought. 

The  aged  poured  one  fervent  prayer, 

And  meekly  shared  the  soldier's  fare  : 
Their  blood,  their  lives,  for  our  fair  homes  were  given, 
Their  hopes  were  rested  on  the  arm  of  Heaven. 

Yet  still  no  morn  of  bliss  was  near, 

No  sun,  to  chase  their  night  of  fear  ; 
Dark  seemed  their  future  fate, 
Dreary  and  desolate. 


Sad  were  the  presages  then  given. 
But  lo  !  upon  their  clouded  heaven 


BIRTH-DAY.  19 

A  star  arose.     Its  dazzling  light 

Dispelled  the  gathering  shades  of  night ; 
Blessing  and  freedom  were  the  glorious  day. 

That  star  its  bright  ascendant  gained  ; 

No  mist  its  shining  pathway  stained  ; 
No  cloud  obscured  its  glowing,  deathless  ray. 

What  was  the  heaven-born  star 

That  shed  its  light  afar, 
Above  the  war-cry's  din,  the  battle's  strife, 
And  guided  us  to  victory  and  life  ? 
The  name  is  breathed  from  every  freeman's  mouth  ; 
It  comes  like  incense,  on  the  gentle  south :         ^ 

And  beams  not  now  the  kindling  eye  ? 

Rise  not  our  swelling  notes  on  high  ? 
It  is  thy  natal  day,  thou  matchless  one  ! 
The  day  that  gave  to  earth  its  WASHINGTON  ! 

It  is  a  feeble  gift  we  bring, 
And  gratitude  in  vain  attempts  to  tell 
The  glorious  visions  that  within  us  swell. 

There  is  a  holy  spot,  — 
Be  not  the  stone  forgot, 
Which  hides  from  view  his  mouldering  dust, 
Till  earth  shall  yield  to  Heaven  its  sacred  trust : 
Be  that  our  Mecca,  that,  fair  freedom's  shrine  ; 
Brightly  may  freedom's  sunlight  o'er  it  shine  : 
And  when  his  children  shall  declare 
With  reverence,  the  glorious  name, 
That  links  them  to  a  future  race, 
And  challenges  immortal  fame, 
May  they,  though  in  the  dust  his  form  they  trace, 
Look  up  to  heaven,  and  say,  "  his  soul  is  there." 
1832. 


20  POEMS. 


MUSIC. 

WHEN  sorrow  o'er  the  spirit  breathes, 
And  grief  its  flowers  of  darkness  wreathes, 
Music  shall  wake  the  heavenly  lyre, 
And  with  new  joy  the  soul  inspire. 

When  joy's  full  gushing  tide  would  seek 
A  fitting  tongue  its  bliss  to  speak, 
Music  its  deathless  lay  shall  swell, 
And  bid  the  strain  our  rapture  tell. 

When,  bending  at  the  shrine  of  prayer, 
We  lay  our  grateful  offering  there, 
The  organ's  pealing  notes  shall  raise 
In  numbers  high,  our  song  of  praise. 

In  joy  or  sorrow,  weal  or  wo, 
The  varied  strain  shall  gently  flow ; 
And  sweetly  fall  upon  the  ear, 
To  gild  our  hope,  or  calm  our  fear. 

Eternal  One  !  to  whom  was  given 
That  first,  pure,  choral  song  of  heaven, 
Which  echoed  through  the  courts  above, 
And  swelled  the  notes  of  joy  and  love, — 

Our  feeble  voices  raised  to  Thee, — 
O !  may  their  notes  accepted  be  : 
Thine  be  the  offering  we  raise, 
And  Thine  our  spirit's  noblest  praise. 


FAITH.  21 


FAITH. 

"  My  soul  trasteth  in  Thee:  yea,  in  the  shadow  of  Thy  wings 
will  I  make  my  refuge."    Psalm  Ivii. 

WHEN  shadows  brood  around  my  way, 
Nor  hope  breathes  forth  her  cheering  lay, 
God !  to  the  shelter  of  Thy  wing, 
My  weary,  fainting  soul  I  bring. 

Then  flee  the  gathering  clouds  of  night, 
Then  burst  Thy  splendors  on  my  sight ; 
My  spirit  gathers  strength  to  meet 
The  ambushed  foe,  the  sad  defeat. 

My  Father !  when  the  storm  beats  high, 
And  doubt,  and  gloom,  and  death  are  nigh, 
My  doubts  remove,  dispel  the  gloom, 
And  cheer  with  hope  the  opening  tomb. 

Though  o'er  my  path  the  cloud  I  see, 
Trusting,  I  turn  my  eye  to  Thee ; 
And  tread,  unharmed,  the  wave- washed  strand, 
Supported  by  Thy  guiding  hand. 


22  POEMS. 


"  I  AM  THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE." 

LIST  to  the  gracious  voice, 
That  from  the  confines  of  the  cheerless  grave, 
The  cherished  one  to  fond  affection  gave. 

O  let  the  soul  rejoice  : 

Even  mid  our  yearning  for  the  loved  and  dear, 
One  blessed  ray  the  damp,  cold  grave  can  cheer. 

Ye  who  so  late  have  bent, 

In  love's  hushed  stillness,  round  the  bed  of  death, 
Watching  the  last  throe  of  the  parting  breath,  — 

Ye  who  the  prayer  have  sent, 
Faithful  and  fervent,  to  the  throne  of  God, 
Through  Him  who  once  the  same  dark  pathway  trod, 

Shall  not  the  tear-drop  fall, 
Remembering  her,  the  loved  of  many  a  heart, 
So  soon  from  earth  and  earth's  bright  things  to  part  ? 

It  is  not  weakness  all, 
The  tear  ye  shed  upon  her  early  bier, 
Whose  form  shall  ne'er  on  earth  our  presence  cheer. 

Not  with  the  fading  leaf, 

Can  fade  the  perfume  of  the  death-touched  flower : 
It  cheers  the  heart  in  many  a  wintry  hour. 

Though  few  indeed  and  brief, 
The  moments  when  it  bloomed  upon  the  sight, 
Long  shall  each  hue  to  memory's  eye  be  bright. 


GOD    IS    HERE.  23 

Thus  shall  it  be  with  thee, 

Sweet  flower !   that  bloomed  awhile  upon  our  way, 
Transplanted  now  to  heaven's  celestial  day. 

Rich,  glorious  destiny  ! 

Who  would  recall  thee  from  that  heavenly  sphere, 
Though  ransomed  by  affection's  holiest  tear  ? 

Thou  in  the  world  above, 
Canst  bend  thee,  unsubdued  by  grief  and  wo, 
At  the  pure  fount  whence  living  waters  flow ; 

While  we,  with  trusting  love, 
Dwell  on  the  pledge  with  joy  and  glory  rife,  — 
"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 


"GOD  IS  HERE." 

WHEN  wandering  in  life's  trial  way, 
Say,  is  there  nought  the  heart  to  cheer, 

To  point  us  to  eternal  day, 

And  gently  whisper,  "  God  is  here  ?  " 

Yes  !  nature  has  a  thrilling  voice 
To  chase  afar  each  anxious  fear : 

Our  hearts,  depressed  with  grief,  rejoice ; 
We  feel,  indeed,  that  "  God  is  here." 


24  POEMS. 

When,  kneeling  at  the  shrine  of  prayer, 
We  breathe  our  vows  from  hearts  sincere, 

A  sacred  calm  dispels  our  care, 

Our  spirits  feel  that  "  God  is  here." 

When  called  around  the  bed  of  death, 
To  part  with  friends  beloved  and  dear, 

O !    as  we  watch  the  fleeting  breath, 
Can  we  not  trust  that  "  God  is  here  ?  " 

We  mingle  dust  with  kindred  dust : 
Devotion  checks  the  starting  tear : 

Our  grief  is  changed  to  filial  trust : 
We  feel,  indeed,  that  "  God  is  here." 

And  when  to  heaven  we  wing  our  flight, 
And  view  our  gracious  Maker  near, 

Our  souls  in  realms  of  endless  light, 
Shall  say  with  rapture,  "  God  is  here." 


HOME.  25 


HOME. 

HOME  !  home  !  as  we  kneel  at  thy  time-hallowed  shrine, 

Our  hearts'  purest  incense  for  aye  shall  be  thine ; 

For  our  early-breathed  vows,  and  our  childhood's  young 

prayer, 
And  our  heart's  dearest  wishes  are  all  centred  there. 

A  light  from  that  altar  around  us  is  shed, 
To  guide  us  in  safety  wherever  we  tread : 
Like  the  moon's  gentle  lustre,  it  beams  on  the  eye, 
Shining  purest  and  brightest  when  danger  is  nigh. 

O  !  never,  till  life's  golden  sunlight  shall  set, 
Can  we  the  loved  home  of  our  childhood  forget ; 
But  faithful  remembrance  to  rapture  shall  swell, 
As  it  rests  on  the  spot  where  our  cherished  ones  dwell. 

And  thus  may  the  magic  which  breathes  round  our  home, 

Still  guide,  as  mid  life's  varied  pathway  we  roam ; 

Till  we  reach  the  bright  shore  where  the  freed  soul  may 

rest, 
The  land  of  the  faithful,  the  home  of  the  blest. 


26  POEMS. 


ECHO. 

"  I  came  to  the  place  of  my  birth,  and  said,  £  The  friends  of  my 
childhood,  where  are  they  ? '  and  echo  answered,  '  Where  are 
they  ? '  " 

THE  many  voices  of  the  past, 

How  fall  their  strains  upon  the  ear  ? 
Come  they  a  spell  of  grief  to  cast, 

Or  with  their  tones  the  heart  to  cheer  ? 
We  hear  them  in  the  mighty  wind, 

That  roars  in  mournful  cadence  round ; 
And  sometimes,  too,  the  heart  may  find 

Breathed  on  the  ear  a  softer  sound. 

The  voices  from  our  childhood's  home, 

Oh  !  are  they  noiseless  all,  and  still  ? 
Who  there  in  changeless  truth  still  roam  ? 

Who  yet  their  wonted  stations  fill  ? 
They  come  amid  the  shades  of  night,  — 

The  loved,  the  cherished  "household  band," 
And  bursting  on  the  mental  sight, 

In  long  and  hushed  array,  they  stand. 

The  father's  step  is  moving  there  ; 

The  mother's  look  of  love  is  given, 
True,  true,  as  when  her  early  prayer 

First  for  her  child,  was  raised  to  Heaven. 
And  other  forms  are  gliding  by, 

Who  shared  my  childhood's  hopes  and  fears. 


ECHO.  27 

The  sister's  smile,  the  sister's  eye, 
Unchanged  amid  the  lapse  of  years. 

Brother !  thy  well-known  form  I  see  ; 

I  gaze  on  thine  unaltered  brow. 
Thou !  who  wast  friend  and  guide  to  me, 

Would  I  might  share  thy  guidance  now. 
There  is  a  gentler  one,  whose  love 

Might  well  have  cheered  life's  trial  way. 
She  comes  with  eye  upraised  above, 

To  point  me  to  a  brighter  day. 

But  they  are  silent  all ;  —  they  come 

From  the  far  regions  of  the  blest. 
Their  souls  have  left  the  loved  home  dumb, 

And  lone  and  sad  this  aching  breast. 
And  now  has  fled  that  sacred  band. 

Where  now  do  these  blest  spirits  stray  ? 
Alone  upon  the  earth  I  stand, 

And  echo  answers,  "  Where  are  they  ? " 

Where  are  they  ?     Does  no  gentler  voice, 

Save  that  of  echo,  cheer  the  heart  ? 
No  tone  that  bids  the  soul  rejoice, 

And  sad  and  anxious  thoughts  depart  ? 
Hark !  hark  !  within  the  midnight  gloom, 

When  solitude  and  grief  are  near,  — 
Hark  !  from  beyond  the  silent  tomb, 

A  voice  is  breathed  upon  the  ear. 

List  to  the  swell  of  that  pure  tone. 

"Though  here  thy  weary  footsteps  roam, 


28  POEMS. 

Thou  art  not  all  unblest,  alone, 

God  soon  shall  call  the  wanderer  home. 

We  see  the  tear,  we  hear  the  sigh, 
To  thee  our  changeless  love  is  given. 

Thy  "  household  band  "   in  faith  is  nigh, 

And  thy  best  land,  —  thy  home  —  is  heaven." 


MOUNT  VERNON. 

NAY,  let  his  dust  in  peace  repose, 
His  ashes  there  in  silence  sleep. 

Fond  memory  there  its  sunlight  throws ; 
There,  unseen  forms  their  vigils  keep. 

He  sleeps  in  silent  glory  there. 

Man's  labor  ne'er  his  rest  invades. 
No  heedless  step,  no  busy  care, 

Disturbs  Mount  Vernon's  sacred  shades. 

That  spot  is  consecrated  now. 

There  cease  the  tones  of  idle  mirth. 
Millions  in  grateful  homage  bow  ; 

'T  is  freedom's  holiest  shrine  on  earth. 

What  though  no  sculptured  marble  tells 
His  name,  who  sleeps  the  stone  below  ? 


MOUNT    VERNON.  29 

The  heart  of  every  freeman  swells, 
The  record  of  his  fame  to  show. 

Though  in  Mount  Vernon  shall  remain, 
The  form  whose  spirit  rests  above  ; 

Or  the  proud  Capitol  contain 

The  sacred  dust  of  him  we  love  ;  — 

Let  us  but  keep  the  blessing  pure, 
Still  free  the  land  he  toiled  to  save  ; 

Long,  long  as  ages  shall  endure, 
Fame  shall  illume  his  lowly  grave. 

Nor  can  a  prouder,  purer  fame 

Upon  those  marble  walls  e'er  rest. 
His  record  is  one  glorious  name  : 

His  monument,  —  each  freeman's  breast. 
1833. 


30  POEMS. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  DEATH. 


"  The  chamber,  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate, 
Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walk 
Of  virtuous  life."  YOUNG. 


SILENCE  is  here ; 

That  deep,  unbroken  stillness  which  pervades 
The  chamber,  hallowed  by  the  Christian's  death. 
Around  that  couch,  where  lies  the  feeble  frame, 
Are  guardian  angels,  hovering  to  catch 
His  breath,  and  on  their  bright  and  golden  wings, 
To  waft  his  spirit  to  its  native  heaven. 
No  thought  of  mortal  joys  comes  in  to  break 
The  hushed  repose  of  this  most  holy  hour. 
Oh !  can  aught  bind  him  to  a  fleeting  world, 
Whose  hopes  are  centred  on  immortal  bliss  ? 

Yet  there  are  ties  which  link  his  soul  to  earth ; 
Those  sacred  sympathies  which  God  has  given, 
Those  sweet  affections,  binding  man  to  man. 
The  Christian  views  those  sad  and  weeping  ones ; 
To  those  fond  objects  of  his  tender  love, 
He  clings  with  love's  enduring  faithfulness. 
Can  he  not  break  those  hallowed  ties,  and  feel 
That  though  the  parting  hour  has  come  to  him, 
There  is  beyond  life's  transient,  varied  things, 
Rest  for  the  "  pure  in  heart  ?  " 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  DEATH.  31 

But  now  a  bright 

And  glorious  vision  bursts  upon  his  eye. 
Meekly  prepared  to  meet  his  Master's  will, 
Whate'er  that  will  may  be,  his  eye  upraised 
With  filial  confidence  in  God's  decrees, 
He  whispers  to  those  dear  ones  with  a  voice, 
Attuned  with  heaven's  own  tones,  to  heavenly  strains. 

"  Weep  not !  though  for  a  time,  the  grave  may  hide 
My  mouldering  form  from  your  embrace,  my  soul 
In  everlasting  realms  shall  dwell ;  mine  eye, 
Undimmed  by  all  that  now  obstructs  its  sight, 
Shall  view  you,  as  you  struggle  on  with  life, 
With  all  its  varied  griefs  and  empty  cares, 
And  when  its  pangs  are  o'er,  shall  welcome  you 
To  an  immortal  home." 

Life  is  extinct. 

Hear  ye  no  strains  of  heavenly  melody  ? 
See  ye  no  seraph  wings  of  hovering  forms, 
With  golden  harps  attuned  to  blissful  strains, 
To  welcome  the  redeemed  one  to  his  home  ? 


POEMS. 


THE  NUN. 

"  MY  father !  canst  thou  calmly  look 

On  her  who  once  was  dear  to  thee  ? 
My  mother !  can  affection  brook 

This  solemn  sacrifice  to  see  ? 
So  young !     But  unto  God  and  heaven 

Can  I  too  young  my  spirit  give  ? 
Too  early  can  the  vow  be  given, 

For  Him,  my  guardian  God,  to  live  ? 

Sister !  to  thee  mine  eye  would  turn, 

Thou  who  hast  shared  my  youthful  love. 
But  wouldst  thou  not  the  suppliant  spurn  ? 

I  rest  my  hope,  my  faith,  above. 
Wealth !  wealth !  —  ah,  take  the  glittering  boon  ; 

With  it  my  blessing  and  my  prayer. 
My  sorrow  too,  that  thou  so  soon, 

Sister,  earth's  phantom  joys  wouldst  share. 

Yes,  take  the  gift.     For  thee,  I  leave 

For  the  cell's  gloom,  earth's  brighter  day. 
What  glorious  wreaths  the  heart  may  weave  ! 

How  soon  they  wither  and  decay ! 
Then  bind  the  pearl  around  my  brow, 

And  gem  my  hair  with  diamonds  bright. 
Though  some  my  lot  may  envy  now, 

A  happier  one  is  mine  ere  night. 

And  bid  them  cull  the  flowers  of  Spring, 
Sweet  Nature's  fragrant  coronet. 


THE    NUN.  33 

Let  them  the  rose  and  lily  bring, 

But  ere  they  fade,  my  sun  will  set. 
Like  me  those  bright  hues  fade  away, 

Those  glowing  tints  by  nature  given. 
But  not  mid  darkness  and  decay, 

Fix  they  as  I,  their  hopes  on  heaven. 

But  I  have  looked  beyond  the  tomb, 

With  faith  to  fairer  realms  on  high  ; 
Have  pierced  its  cold  and  cheerless  gloom, 

And  raised  to  God  my  filial  eye. 
This  gloomy  prison  cannot  be 

The  dwelling  of  my  freeborn  soul ; 
And  its  stern  inmates  soon  may  see 

My  spirit,  past  their  proud  control." 

Finished  !  that  victim,  peerless,  bright, 

In  robes  of  sacrifice  arrayed, 
Mid  gems  of  clear  and  flashing  light, 

Stands  pure,  and  fair,  and  undismayed. 
Finished  !     The  pealing  anthem's  sound 

Reechoes  o'er  the  fretted  dome. 
With  Spring's  sweet  flowerets  she  is  crowned, 

And  welcomed  to  her  future  home. 

Heaves  there  from  that  young  heart  no  sigh, 

As  o'er  her  thoughts  sweet  memories  rise  ? 
What  speaks  from  that  uplifted  eye, 

Communing  with  yon  glorious  skies  ? 
No  sigh  disturbs  that  spirit  meek, 

No  cloud  is  on  that  holy  brow, 
No  fires  of  passion  flush  her  cheek  ; 

But  all  is  calm  and  quiet  now. 
4 


34  POEMS. 

Yet  in  that  calm,  unclouded  gaze, 

So  pure,  so  eloquently  bright 
With  faith's  undimmed,  celestial  rays, 

There  glows  devotion's  sacred  light. 
And  now  the  tasseled  velvet  pall 

Enshrouds  her  young  and  lovely  form. 
Ah  !  what  a  solemn  mockery  all, 

To  chill  affections  pure  and  warm. 
*  #  # 

Those  gems  still  flash,  those  flowers  are  bright ; 

But  she,  to  whom  their  hues  were  given, 
Hers  was  an  angel's  blissful  flight, 

Her  Father  —  God  ;  her  dwelling  —  heaven. 


THE  MINSTREL  LOVER. 

LIST  to  that  strain.     Its  echoes  float 
Sweetly  upon  the  listening  ear. 

List  to  that  strain.     Its  low-breathed  note 
Tells  that  the  minstrel's  step  is  near. 

The  minstrel !  to  what  fair  one's  bower, 
Comes  he  his  thrilling  notes  to  raise  ? 

Who,  at  this  lone  and  silent  hour, 
Will  listen  to  his  magic  lays  ? 


THE    MINSTREL    LOVER.  35 

Yet  one  there  is,  whose  ear  has  caught 

The  faintest  murmur  of  that  strain  : 
One,  whose  fond,  faithful  heart  has  sought 

Long  for  that  low-breathed  song,  in  vain. 

No  slumber  may  her  eyelids  close, 
Now  that  she  hears  the  minstrel's  song. 

Her  heart  with  rapture  overflows, 

As  thoughts  most  blest  its  fountains  throng. 

Softly  she  seeks  the  window  nigh, 
And  gazes  on  the  scene  around. 
With  breath  suppressed,  her  anxious  eye 

Seeks  whence  proceeds  that  welcome  sound. 

And  not  in  vain.     The  moon's  pale  light 
Shines  calmly  down  on  hill  and  plain ; 

And  now  there  meets  her  gazing  sight, 
The  minstrel  of  the  gentle  strain. 

Where  is  the  taper's  light,  which  shone 

So  lately  in  the  lofty  tower  ? 
Its  dim  and  flickering  flame  is  gone, 

And  dark  is  now  the  lady's  bower. 

Soon  to  her  casement  she  returns, 
To  watch  in  speechless  rapture  there. 

Quickly,  love's  eagle  eye  discerns 
Whose  is  that  proud  and  manly  air. 

The  minstrel  lover  nearer  draws  : 

And  now  has  ceased  his  gentle  strain. 


36  POEMS. 

A  prelude  now  ;  —  now,  one  short  pause,- 
And  hark !  those  thrilling  notes  again. 

Ah  !  blessed  one,  that  strain  who  hears, 
As  on  the  air  its  echoes  swell. 

For  her,  no  sad,  no  blighting  fears : 
Those  notes  of  deep  affection  tell. 

Then,  minstrel,  pour  thy  melody, 
And  raise  thy  tuneful  numbers  high. 

The  shrinking  form  thou  may'st  not  see  ; 
But  know  her  faithful  heart  is  nigh. 

To-morrow's  sun  on  thee  shall  shine, 
And  bless  thee  with  its  beaming  ray. 

Her  heart's  best  tribute  shall  be  thine, 
And  thine  shall  be  her  gentle  lay. 


THE   THORNLESS    ROSE.  37 


THE  THORNLESS  ROSE. 

HANNAH  !  the  flower  thy  hand  bestows, 

A  treasured  gift  shall  be  ; 
And  may  the  sweetly  perfumed  rose 

Be  a  meet  type  of  thee. 

Thine,  Hannah,  was  a  thornless  flower,- 

A  gift,  as  sweet  as  rare. 
O !  may  thy  life's  untroubled  bower 

But  thornless  roses  bear. 

On  that  fair  brow,  so  free  from  gloom, 
Untouched  by  sorrow's  blight, 

May  Innocence  unsullied  bloom, 
In  hues  of  living  light. 

Let  Nature's  blush  to  thy  young  cheek, 

Its  radiant  tints  impart, 
And  truth's  most  holy  fount  bespeak 

Deep  treasured  in  thy  heart. 

Fresh  as  that  leaflet's  hue  of  green, 
O  !  may  thy  young  hopes  be  ; 

Nor  cloud  obstruct  the  light  serene 
Of  holy  memory. 

Like  the  sweet  breathing  perfume  shed 

Around  the  faded  rose, 
4* 


38  POEMS. 

Virtue,  when  life's  bright  hues  are  fled, 
Its  fragrant  breath  bestows. 

Thus,  Hannah,  let  thy  virtues  give 
Their  fragrance  rich  and  free  ; 

Thy  name  a  cherished  treasure  live, 
Enshrined  in  memory. 


CELESTIAL  VISITANTS. 

"  What  could  be  more  consoling,  than  the  idea  that  the  souls  of 
those  we  once  loved,  were  permitted  to  return  and  watch  over  our 
welfare?"  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

BLEST  thought !  that  they,  whose  love  was  shed 

Around  us  in  life's  summer  day ; 
They  whom  we  call  the  lost,  the  dead, 

Still  linger  round  our  earthly  way ; 
Still  list  to  catch  our  varied  strain, — 
Or  swelled  with  joy,  or  fraught  with  pain. 

Sweet  hope  !  that  they  whose  glance  has  caught 
A  light  from  heaven's  all-hallowed  flame, 

May  with  love's  changeless  fervor  fraught, 
Gaze  on  our  pathway,  still  the  same. 

Ah !  do  they  rest  in  tender  truth, 

Round  the  loved  objects  of  their  youth  ? 


CELESTIAL   VISITANTS. 

We  gaze.     Upon  the  filmy  air, 

Their  golden  harps  we  may  not  see. 

We  wait  to  hear  their  low-breathed  prayer, 
To  catch  the  undying  harmony. 

It  may  not  be.     We  list  in  vain. 

We  may  not  hear  that  glorious  strain. 

It  cannot  be.     We  may  not  know, 
Thus  prisoned  by  our  wall  of  clay, 

What  faithful  hearts  around  us  glow, 
In  sun  or  shade,  by  night  or  day. 

We  may  not  tell  what  hand  is  given, 

To  guide  our  onward  path  to  heaven. 

Yet  were  the  fancy  soothing,  sweet, 
To  think,  while  here  our  spirits  dwell, 

That  kindred  hearts  around  us  beat, 
That  kindred  songs  in  chorus  swell ; 

That  they,  whose  eye  for  us  grew  bright, 

Still  shed  on  us  their  changeless  light. 

That  angel  band  !  perchance  our  air 
Is  fragrant  with  their  balmy  breath, 

Perchance  they  kneel  with  us  in  prayer, — 
The  truly  "  faithful  unto  death  ;  " 

And  when  life's  golden  chain  is  riven, 

Waft  us  on  angel  wings  to  heaven. 

The  presence  of  the  holy  dead, — 

Whose  eyes  have  looked  on  cloudless  day, 
O  !  be  its  gracious  influence  shed, 

To  guide  us  in  the  narrow  way ; 
That,  when  the  eternal  shore  is  pressed, 
Our  souls  for  aye  in  heaven  may  rest. 


40  POEMS. 


MARY  AT  THE  FEET  OF  JESUS. 

HUMBLY  before  her  Master  Mary  knelt ; 
And  as  upon  her  cheek,  the  teardrop  fell, 
And  bathed  those  feet  so  often  turned  to  bless 
The  faithful  soul,  relying  on  his  love, 
She  with  her  clustering  hair  the  moisture  wiped ; 
And  kissed  with  the  pure  lip  of  holy  love, 
His  feet,  in  whose  blessed  presence  low  she  bowed. 
Then  o'er  them  with  meek  care  the  perfume  poured, 
More  sweet  than  gales  which  blow  from  Eastern  shores, 
And  breathe  around  the  earth  their  soothing  power. 

Was  there  a  heart  that  could  behold  untouched 
The  holiest  deed  that  woman  e'er  performed  ? 
Never  perchance  those  hands  had  held  the  cup 
Of  charity,  to  parched  and  dying  lips, 
Or  bathed  the  feet  of  lone  and  sorrowing  care. 
That  precious  work  was  spurned,  scorned  by  his  heart, 
Who  never  knew  the  blissful  tear  which  flows, 
From  the  blest  consciousness  of  sins  forgiven. 

But  list !  what  words  fell  from  the  lips  of  Him, 
Who  spake  as  never  spake  a  mortal  man  ? 
Whose  ear  was  opened  to  the  unspoken  thought, 
Alike  as  to  the  uttered  song  of  praise  ? 
Breathed  there  resentment  from  his  opening  lip  ? 
Sat  there  the  frown  of  anger  on  his  brow  ? 
There  nought  was  seen  but  sacred  sympathy, 


MAKY   AT    THE    FEET    OF   JESUS.  41 

The  smile  of  rapture  for  a  soul  redeemed 
From  earthly  thoughts,  to  hopes  of  heaven. 

He  spake, 

And  said  to  him,  whose  heart  and  lip  had  spurned 
The  holy  deed,  which  hallows  Mary's  name  ;  — . 
"  Thine  house  I  entered ;  but  thou  gavest  me 
No  water  for  my  feet ;  but  with  her  tears, 
She  hath  not  ceased  to  wash  them,  wiping  them 
E'en  with  the  clustering  locks  of  her  bowed  head. 
Thou  gavest  me  no  kiss ;  but  since  I  came, 
She  hath  not  ceased  in  deep  humility 
To  kiss  my  feet.     Thou  with  the  fragrant  oil, 
My  head  didst  not  anoint ;  but  she  hath  wrought 
A  holy  work  on  me,  anointing  me, 
Even  for  my  burial  hour.     Wherefore  I  say, 
Her  sins,  though  many,  are  forgiven  her. 
Much  hath  she  loved,  and  wheresoe'er  is  preached 
In  the  whole  world,  the  Gospel  of  my  word, 
There  also  this,  the  work  which  she  has  wrought, 
Shall  be  a  sweet  memorial  of  her  name." 

Gently  he  turned  him  to  the  kneeling  form, 
And  in  the  tones  of  mild  encouragement, 
He  spake  the  words,  thrice  precious  to  her  ear, 
"  Thy  sins  are  pardoned  ;  go  in  peace.     Thy  faith, 
Humble  yet  mighty,  hath  redeemed  thy  soul." 


42  POEMS. 


THE  APPEAL  OF  RUTH. 

"  NAY.  turn  my  footsteps  not  away  ! 
Faithful  and  fond,  with  thee  I  stay. 
My  heart,  —  oh  !  can  it  ever  be 
Divided  from  thy  love  and  thee  ? 

Pure  as  the  early  beam  of  light, 
Which  dissipates  the  shades  of  night, 
That  love  shall  be  the  holiest  spell, 
That  ever  in  my  heart  can  dwell. 

That  spell  forbids  me  e'er  to  go 
From  thee,  my  dearest  one  below. 
It  binds  its  power  around  my  heart ;  — 
Gently  forbids  me  to  depart. 

My  sister,  —  let  her  footsteps  roam 
Back  to  her  childhood's  cherished  home. 
But  what  is  childhood's  home  to  me  ? 
My  lost  one,  there,  I  may  not  see. 

True  to  that  one,  in  life  so  dear, 
Here  will  I  dwell  thine  age  to  cheer. 
Thou  wert  his  mother,  true  and  kind ; 
Love's  holy  chain  our  hearts  shall  bind. 

My  mother  !  that  endearing  name, 

A  daughter's  heart  would  fondly  claim, 


THE   APPEAL    OF    RUTH.  43 

The  call  of  filial  love  obey, 
And  filial  duty  gladly  pay. 

Say,  can  I  leave  thine  age  alone, 
Without  one  joy  to  call  thine  own  ? 
No,  I  will  leave  thy  side  no  more, 
Till  my  life's  pilgrimage  is  o'er. 

And  should  be  hushed  thy  fleeting  breath, 
My  hands  will  close  thine  eyes  in  death ; 
And  where  thy  mouldering  ashes  sleep, 
My  spirit  shall  its  vigils  keep. 

Within  one  grave  our  forms  shall  rest 
Gently,  as  on  a  mother's  breast ; 
Nor  fear  to  tread  the  narrow  way, 
Which  leads  to  heaven's  unclouded  day. 

And  when  before  the  mercy  seat, 
Our  faithful  hearts  again  shall  meet, 
The  gracious  boon  shall  then  be  given, 
To  meet  our  loved,  our  lost,  in  heaven." 

Love  !  love  !  how  deep  thy  seal  is  set ! 
Who  can  its  impress  e'er  forget  ? 
O !  let  thine  influence  ever  rest, 
Like  truth's  own  signet,  on  the  breast. 


44  POEMS. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

WEEP,  Scotia,  weep  !  his  star  is  set 
Mid  the  rich  tints  of  glorious  fame. 

Nor  ever  can  thy  sons  forget 

The  peerless  glories  of  his  name. 

Full  many  a  jewel  thou  shalt  give, 

In  memory's  diadem  to  shine, 
Whose  name  on  history's  page  shall  live, 

So  loved,  so  honored,  Scott,  as  thine  ? 

Nor  can  the  glory  of  thy  name, 

Be  to  thy  native  land  confined. 
In  every  nation,  it  shall  claim 

The  homage  due  from  mind  to  mind. 

Thy  resting  place  shall  Genius  seek ; 

Thine  shall  its  glowing  tribute  be ; 
While  Love  in  low-breathed  tones,  shall  speak 

Its  incense  to  thy  memory. 

Woman  her  grateful  meed  shall  bring, 

Devotion  shed  its  holiest  tear ; 
The  poet's  lay  his  praises  sing, 

Whose  matchless  worth  all  hearts  revere. 

It  is  a  guerdon  pure  and  bright, — 

The  guerdon  of  immortal  fame. 
Ah !  who  shall  say  her  glorious  light 

Is  but  the  pageant  of  a  name  ? 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    THE    ADRIATIC.  45 

More  !  yes  !  far  more  !     On  virtue's  shrine 

Alone,  our  hearts  their  homage  lay. 
The  shrine,  the  homage,  Scott,  are  thine  : 

Fame's  purest  meed  to  thee  we  pay. 


THE   MARRIAGE    OF   THE   ADRIATIC. 

At  the  time  when  Venice  was  at  the  height  of  her  glory,  a  cere- 
mony was  annually  performed  by  the  Doge  of  that  Republic,  called 
the  Marriage  of  the  Adriatic.  It  was  celebrated  for  many  years, 
but,  like  the  glory  of  the  Republic,  it  has  long  since  passed  away. 

MORN, — >and  the  island  city  lies 

Proudly  beneath  her  glorious  sky ; 
Around,  her  towers  in  grandeur  rise  J 

How  brightly  shines  her  sun  on  high ! 
See,  here  the  conquered  banners  wave 

Above  San  Marco's  ancient  walls, 
And  there  the  rippling  waters  lave 

Each  proud  palazzo's  regal  halls. 

And  noiseless  all.     No  sound  of  care 

Breaks  in  upon  this  soft  repose  ; 
But  Nature,  calm,  and  bright,  and  fair, 

Around  her  robe  of  silence  throws. 
Hark!  hark!  a  proud,  triumphal  peal 

Is  ringing  from  each  lofty  tower ; 
5 


46  POEMS. 

Calls  it  proud  man  in  prayer  to  kneel  ? 
Is  it  devotion's  sacred  hour  ? 

No,  not  to  prayer.     The  bugle's  note, 

The  trumpet's  thrilling  tones  are  here, 
And  softer  sounds  of  music  float 

In  gentle  murmurs  to  the  ear. 
And  look,  the  idle  and  the  gay, 

And  beauty's  form  pass  lightly  by ; 
It  is  their  monarch's  bridal  day  ; 

Should  not  the  heart  with  joy  beat  high  ? 

O  !  many  a  heart  beats  gaily  here, 

Within  this  favored,  sunny  clime  ; 
Nor  deems  a  darker  day  is  near 

Proud  Venice,  in  this  glorious  time. 
Noon,  —  and  the  sun's  meridian  rays 

Still  beam  on  lofty  tower  and  dome : 
Mid  gorgeous  pomp  and  jewel's  blaze, 

The  idle  throng  still  gaily  roam. 

Gaze  further.     On  the  glittering  stream, 

What  glorious  object  meets  the  view  ? 
Is  it  the  pageant  of  a  dream, 

Illumed  by  Fancy's  magic  hue  ? 
It  comes.     That  train  moves  slowly  on, 

Beneath  the  heaven's  refulgent  light ; 
Never  the  sun,  in  splendor  shone 

Upon  a  scene  more  proudly  bright. 

All  silent  is  the  gentle  lay ; 

The  warlike  strain  is  heard  no  more  : 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    THE    ADRIATIC.  47 

Mid  this  magnificent  array, 

Those  lofty,  thrilling  strains  are  o'er. 

Silent  as  death's  calm,  noiseless  sleep, 
Venice,  is  now  thy  giddy  throng ; 

Nor  would  thy  children  idly  weep, 

Were  those  last  sounds  thy  parting  song. 

Yes,  glorious  were  it  now  to  die, 

Free  as  thy  sires  thy  birthright  gave ; 
And  proud,  beneath  a  freeman's  sky, 

To  find  a  freeman's  hallowed  grave. 
The  glittering  pledge  of  faith  is  given  : 

The  monarch  weds  the  yielding  sea  ; 
And  leud,  beneath  the  arch  of  heaven, 

Proud  bride  !  arise  those  shouts  for  thee. 

That  bridal  pageant  was  the  last, 

That  ever  here  thy  eye  beheld  ; 
Those  varied  strains  for  aye  have  passed, 

That  richly  on  the  soft  air  swelled. 
Venice,  thy  palmy  days  are  o'er. 

What  art  thou,  City  of  the  Isles  ? 
Upon  this  festal  pomp,  no  more 

The  sun  in  pride  and  glory  smiles. 

Yet,  beautiful  in  ruins  stand, 

To  mark  thy  former  glorious  hour, 
And,  sadly,  to  each  listening  land, 

Thy  lesson  teach  of  truth  and  power. 
And  may  our  nation  learn  from  thee 

What  gives  alone  immortal  fame ; 
Our  strength  alone  in  virtue  be, 

Our  pride  alone,  —  a  freeman's  name. 


48  POEMS. 


"IS    IT    WELL   WITH    THE    CHILD  1" 

O  !  'T  is  a  charmed  sleep  I 
Come  ye  upon  the  holy  ground  with  fear, 
And  with  low  breath  and  silent  lip  draw  near  : 

Break  not  that  rest  so  deep. 
No  earthly  touch  hath  set  its  signet  there, 
Or  wrought  a  work  so  beautiful  and  fair. 

Look  ye  on  that  pale  brow, 
That  eyelid,  closed  as  in  its  infant  rest, 
When  hushed  to  slumber  on  its  mother's  breast ; 

See  the  calm  beauty  now, 

Which  on  that  chiseled  lip  the  eye  may  view,  — 
The  cheek  which  wears  the  lily's  sinless  hue. 

That  form,  O!  it  might  well 
Be  the  pure  temple  of  a  soul  divine,. 
And  hold,  for  stainless  gifts,  a  spirit-shrine, 

Whence  notes  of  love  might  swell, 
Like  incense  sweet,  where  guilt  is  all  unknown, 
And  grateful  rise  to  the  Eternal's  throne. 

It  cannot,  may  not  be  — 

The  spirit  even  from  that  pure  shrine  ascends> 
And  with  the  angelic  choir  its  incense  blends. 

Eternal  One,  to  Thee 

Can  more  accepted  notes  than  theirs  be  given, 
Whom  he,  Thy  Son,  declared  to  be  of  heaven  > 


IS   IT   WELL   WITH   THE   CHILD  ?  49 

It  shall  be  well  with  those 

Whom  he,  on  earth,  in  word  and  spirit  blessed  — 
Those  of  the  world,  the  brightest  and  the  best : 

Calmly  their  souls  repose,  — 
Repose  with  him,  whose  voice  the  promise  gave, 
Whose  death  the  pledge  of  life  beyond  the  grave. 

We  know  with  her  't  is  well, 
Called,  in  her  sinless  years,  to  join  the  band, 
Who,  'mid  his  glory,  with  their  Saviour  stand, 

Ere  the  unsullied  swell 

Of  life's  young  fount  a  darkening  stain  can  know, 
Or  the  glad  heart  be  touched  with  earthly  wo. 

Let  not  the  spirit  weep  — 
Would  we  recall  her  from  the  immortal  sphere, 
Though  the  pure  ransom  were  a  parent's  tear  ? 

God  shall  the  treasure  keep 
Unstained,  unsullied,  as  a  gem  of  light, 
To  beam  forever  in  His  heavenly  sight. 


5* 


50  POEMS. 


PARAPHRASE    OF    THE    ONE    HUNDRED    THIRTY- 
NINTH  PSALM. 

0  THOU  Eternal  Source  of  every  good  ! 
Whose  eye  surveys  creation's  utmost  bound, 
Whose  piercing  glance  my  secret  soul  can  read, 
And  mark  the  errors  that  are  lurking  there, 
How  shall  1  seek  Thy  face,  how  raise  to  Thee 
The  imperfect  thoughts  by  worldly  care  debased  ? 
How  purify  those  thoughts,  and  make  them  meet 
With  Thee,  Supreme  Perfection,  to  commune  ? 
Nothing  is  from  Thy  searching  glances  hid  ; 
And  ere  my  thoughts  are  known  unto  myself, 
Thou,  God,  canst  understand  each  secret  wish, 
Each  aspiration  for  eternal  truth, 

Each  groveling  hope  to  earthly  things  confined. 

How  can  imperfect  mortals  comprehend 
Eternal  Wisdom  ?     How  can  sinful  man 
Aspire  to  hold  communion  with  the  God 
Most  Mighty  and  Most  Good  ?     Vainly  our  minds 
Desire  to  penetrate  Thy  Wisdom's  spring, 
Hidden  from  mortal  eye,  but  clear  and  bright 
To  Him  who  first  created  earth  and  heaven. 
Our  minds,  though  heaven-illumined,  cannot  grasp 
Such  knowledge.     I  would  flee  thy  presence  dread, 
And  seek  a  spot  to  Thy  pure  gaze  unknown. 

1  may  not  enter  heaven  ;  for  there  thy  glance 
Would  overwhelm  my  spirit.     Could  I  bear 


THE    ONE    HUNDRED    THIRTY-NINTH    PSALM.  51 

That  eye,  whose  light  would  pierce  my  inmost  soul  ? 

And  should  I  make  my  bed  where  spirits  dark 

Dwell  in  the  silence  of  the  under  world, 

There,  too,  Thine  eye  would  see  my  face,  and  there 

The  glance  of  Thy  displeasure  would  upbraid 

The  heartless,  cold  ingratitude  of  one 

Who  gave  Thee  not  devotion's  fervent  prayer, 

Rich  incense  rising  from  a  grateful  heart,  — 

A  heart  which  glowed  with  an  immortal  flame, 

A  temple  meet  for  Thee. 

Or  should  I  seek, 

Upon  the  wings  of  morn,  the  ocean  depths, 
Behold,  Thy  piercing  glance  looks  there,  —  a  glance 
Undimmed  by  the  destructive  flight  of  time  : 
Thy  hand  would  guide  me  through  its  mazy  depths. 
Should  I  desire  the  shielding  veil  of  night, 
Thine  eye  could  penetrate  its  shadowy  folds. 
All,  all  is  clear  to  Thee.     Is  not  the  night 
The  same  as  day  to  thy  unclouded  eye  ? 

Let  me  not  flee  thy  presence.     Let  me  seek 
Nearer  and  dearer  intercourse  with  Him 
Whose  word  created  me.     Great  are  Thy  works, 
And  in  the  fulness  of  Thy  boundless  power, 
Thou  raisedst  me  from  dust.     Upon  my  soul 
Thine  own  immortal  image  didst  Thou  stamp, 
And  give  me  power  to  fit  that  soul  to  dwell 
Forever  in  Thy  sight. 

Precious  to  me,  O  God ! 
The  gracious  promises  Thy  word  reveals  ; 
Precious  the  hope  of  everlasting  life, 


52  POEMS. 

A  vast  eternity  passed  near  to  Thee. 
There  shall  no  clouds  of  sin  my  sight  obstruct, 
Nor  mist  of  error  veil  thy  face  from  me  : 
There  shall  I  see  that  face,  there  taste  the  bliss, 
The  joys  of  heaven.     Father !  enthroned  on  high ! 
O  !  search  my  heart.     Hush  each  unholy  thought. 
Quell  the  fierce  storm  of  anger.     Make  my  soul 
Humble  and  grateful  to  its  Gracious  Source. 
Fill  it  with  holy  hope  and  perfect  faith 
In  Thy  decrees.     Let  no  repining  thought 
Escape  the  lips  enkindled  at  Thy  shrine, 
With  the  pure  flame  of  love.     Let  perfect  love, 
Greater  than  hope  or  faith,  my  bosom  fill,  — 
Love  for  the  human  race. 

And  O  !  when  death 
Shall  set  his  icy  seal  upon  my  brow, 
And  earth,  with  all  its  scenes,  fades  from  my  view, 
Grant  me  Thy  changeless  light,  the  light  of  truth, 
That  points  my  soul  to  realms  of  endless  day. 
There  shall  that  soul,  from  earthly  care  set  free, 
Breathe  forth  to  Thee  its  speechless  gratitude. 


UNIVERSAL   ADORATION.  53 


UNIVERSAL   ADORATION. 

As  up  to  heaven  our  eyes  we  raise, 
And  on  its  shining  wonders  gaze, 
Each  kindling  page  of  starry  light, 
Bears  record  of  Thy  boundless  might. 

We  look  upon  Thy  footstool,  earth, 
Radiant  as  at  creation's  birth. 
Our  Maker's  impress  there  we  see  ; 
Its  ceaseless  homage  swells  to  Thee. 

The  ocean's  solemn,  mighty  roar 
Calls  man  its  Author  to  adore  ; 
And  while  its  grandeur  meets  the  eye, 
To  seek  Thy  gracious  throne  on  high. 

The  voice  of  Spring,  the  Autumn's  glow, 
The  Summer's  sun,  the  Winter's  snow, 
Have  each  a  pure  and  thrilling  tone, 
To  call  our  thoughts  to  Thee  alone. 

And  though  to  man  it  be  not  given 
To  scan  "  the  mysteries  of  Heaven," 
Still  we  Thy  favor  may  implore, 
Our  hearts  may  bless,  our  souls  adore* 


54  POEMS. 


GOD   NIGH    TO    THE   PENITENT. 

"  The  Lord  is  nigh  unto  them  that  are  of  a  broken  heart,  and 
saveth  such  as  be  of  a  contrite  spirit."    Psalm  xxxiv.  18. 

NIGH,  in  that  hour  of  secret  grief, 

When  anguish  bows  the  head, 
To  whisper  pardon  and  relief, 

And  healing  oil  to  shed. 

Nigh  in  the  covenant  of  his  love, 

Traced  on  the  sacred  page, 
Which  points  us  to  our  home  above,  — 

Our  heavenly  heritage. 

A  broken  heart !  — its  low-breathed  sighs, 

Its  scarcely  uttered  prayer, 
Shall  to  a  Father's  ear  arise, 

And  meet  with  mercy  there. 

And  though  full  oft  our  wandering  feet 
Guilt's  thorn-strowed  path  have  trod, 

Jesus  the  contrite  heart  shall  meet, 
And  turn  it  to  its  God. 

New  glory  from  His  throne  of  light 

Shall  beam  its  cheering  ray  ; 
For  oft  the  deepest  shade  of  night 

Heralds  the  brightest  day. 


TO    THE    DEPARTED.  55 


TO   THE  DEPARTED. 

WHAT  is  there  that  should  terrify  the  sight, 
In  gazing  on  thy  calm,  untroubled  sleep  ; 

To  shed  around  our  hearts  a  cheerless  blight, 
Or  cause  the  eye  these  burning  tears  to  weep  ? 

Nought  is  there  written  on  that  tranquil  brow, 
Or  on  that  fast-closed  lip,  of  earthly  pain. 

They  speak  earth's  sharpest  conflict  over  now  ; 
Thy  heart  shall  know  nor  care  nor  grief  again. 

Yet  while  we  gaze  upon  thy  sleeping  dust, 
And  mark  thy  rest  so  peaceful  and  so  sweet, 

Our  anxious  fears  are  changed  to  holy  trust ; 
Our  chastened  hearts  with  holy  transport  beat. 

Thy  body  sleeps  in  death  ;  but  the  pure  heart, 
Which  shed  o'er  that  loved  form  its  living  light, 

That  which  alone  can  breathing  grace  impart, 
Has  winged  beyond  the  spheres  its  blissful  flight. 

Then  will  we  yield  thee  to  the  sheltering  tomb, 
And  wait  its  rising  on  that  glorious  morn, 

When,  bursting  forth  in  renovated  bloom, 
In  realms  of  endless  light  it  shall  be  born. 


56  POEMS. 


FOR   "AULD  LANG  SYNE." 

FOR  Auld  Lang  Syne  !     What  magic  spell 
Sheds  o'er  those  words  such  sacred  power  ? 

Of  past  and  cherished  joys  to  tell, 
To  speak  of  many  a  vanished  hour  ? 

That  pure  and  magic  spell  I  greet : 
My  spirit  turns  to  Auld  Lang  Syne  ; 

For  heart  with  kindred  heart  can  meet, 
And  lay  its  gift  on  memory's  shrine. 

Is  it  not  joyous  to  recall 

The  bliss  which  childhood  only  knows  ? 
When  life  is  light  and  sunshine  all, 

Nor  Time  has  stained  life's  thornless  rose  ? 

For  Auld  Lang  Syne  !     Thy  cherished  place 

Is  void  amid  thy  father's  home. 
No  longer  there  thy  form  we  trace, 

No  longer  there  thy  footsteps  roam. 

The  stranger's  soil  thy  steps  have  pressed, 
And  stranger  hearts  around  thee  glow. 

Thyself,  —  how  cherished  and  how  blest, 
The  "  Love  left  drooping  here  "  may  know. 

Long  in  the  heart  thy  form  shall  dwell, 
Thine  image,  fond  affection  share  ; 

And  each  succeeding  day  shall  tell 
That  thou  art  still  remembered  there. 


LIFE   HAS   NO   CHARM   FOR   ME.  57 

Remembered  in  the  low-breathed  sigh, 

And  in  the  secret  prayer  of  love  ; 
Remembered  in  the  kindling  eye, 

That  turns  for  thee  to  God  above. 


"LIFE  HAS  NO  CHARM  FOR  ME." 

HAS  life  no  charm  for  thee  ? 
Are  there  no  visions  of  the  joyous  past, 
Like  holy  spells  around  thy  pathway  cast  ? 

Canst  thou  no  blessings  see, 
To  cheer  thee  in  thy  loneliness  of  heart, 
And  to  thy  soul  their  gracious  aid  impart  ? 

O  !  art  thou  all  unblest  ? 

Come  there  no  glorious  hopes  thy  heart  to  cheer  ? 
Is  there  no  hand  to  wipe  the  starting  tear  ? 

No  thought  of  that  calm  rest, 
Which  the  meek  child  of  God  alone  may  share, 
Where  comes  no  withering  grief,  no  anxious  care  ? 

Where  is  the  soul's  deep  love, 
Resting  on  God  in  pure,  unchanging  trust  ? 
Where  is  that  faith  which,  from  the  earth  and  dust, 

Can  point  the  eye  above, 
To  purer,  nobler  mansions  in  the  sky, 
Where  its  freed  energies  can  never  die  ? 
6 


58  POEMS. 

O !  let  thy  soul  rejoice  : 

Life  has  a  charm,  though  dark  to  thee  it  seem. 
What  though  may  blighted  be  thy  heart's  bright  dream  r 

There  is  a  gentle  voice, 
Bidding  thy  heart,  amid  this  deep  despair, 
On  God  repose  the  burden  of  its  care. 

And  death  shall  bring  no  gloom  : 
It  is  the  pathway  which  thy  soul  must  tread, 
As  to  thy  Father's  mansions  thou  art  led. 

Beyond  the  silent  tomb, 

When  to  that  heaven  thy  spirit  wings  its  flight, 
Thy  God  shall  be  thine  Everlasting  Light. 


THE   HEAVENS  DECLARE  THE  GLORY  OF  GOD." 

ON  yonder  shining  vault  above, 

Where  gems  of  beauty  meet  the  sight, 

Are  written  glory,  power,  and  love, 
In  characters  of  living  light. 

The  sun  reveals  his  power  by  day  : 
The  moon  lights  up  the  midnight  skies ; 

And  countless  glittering  stars  display 
His  wonders  to  our  gazing  eyes. 


THE    FADED    FLOWER.  59 

Heaven's  lovely  bow  its  arch  expands, 
The  pledge  by  God  to  mortals  given : 

The  glorious  wonders  of  His  hands 
Illume  the  glowing  page  of  heaven. 

By  day  is  heard  a  thrilling  voice, 
Proclaiming  loud  His  guardian  love : 

By  night  those  kindling  orbs  rejoice, 
Amid  their  silent  march  above. 

And  though  upon  the  careless  ear 
No  accents  fall  of  prayer  and  praise, 

The  listening  child  of  God  may  hear 

Those  hymning  spheres  their  tribute  raise. 


THE  FADED  FLOWER. 

I  GAZED  at  morn.     The  tender  flower 
Bloomed  brightly  at  that  early  hour ; 
And  fair  in  nature's  radiant  bloom, 
Wafted  around  its  rich  perfume. 

I  gazed  when  day's  soft  light  had  fled; 
Decay  and  death  their  blight  had  shed  : 
The  wind's  rude  blast  had  o'er  it  swept ; 
Nature  her  dewy  tear-drops  wept. 


60  POEMS. 

Life  has  such  flowers,  the  fair,  the  bright, 
All  glowing  with  their  tints  of  light : 
To-day,  they  greet  the  gazer's  eye, 
To-morrow,  drooping,  dead,  they  lie. 

Hope,  like  some  flower  of  sunny  hue, 
Blooms  but  to  fade  in  sadness  too : 
Fair  as  the  light  of  heaven  its  beam,  — 
Then  fled  as  morning's  vanished  dream. 

Yet  shall  life's  faded  flowers  assume 
Fragrance  more  rich,  and  fairer  bloom, 
And  in  the  diadem  divine 
As  gems  of  priceless  splendor  shine. 


"JE  NE  CHANGE  GlU'EN  MOURANT." 

CHANGE  but  in  death  ?     Ah,  who  shall  say, 
As  each  sweet  hope  of  love  departs, 

That  death  can  ever  steal  away 

Our  memory  from  their  severed  hearts  ? 

Does  it  not  rather  set  the  seal 

Of  changeless  truth  upon  their  love, 

And  to  our  loneliness  reveal 
A  sweeter  fellowship  above  ? 


JE   NE   CHANGE   Qtl'EN    MOURANT.  61 

Change  but  in  death  ?     More  precious  far 

They  whom  it  severs  from  our  eye  ; 
As  the  pure  beaming  of  the  star, 

Burns  brightest  in  the  midnight  sky. 

The  holiest  might  of  love  is  given, 

Where  death  has  hushed  life's  broken  strings, 
And  memory  o'er  the  faithful  dead, 

The  light  of  perfect  beauty  flings. 

Change  but  in  death  ?     It  cannot  be  : 
Death  cannot  dim  truth's  heavenly  ray. 

One  star  of  promise  we  can  see, 
A  prelude  of  the  perfect  day. 

It  cannot  be.     Too  deeply  flows, 

Though  silent,  love's  unsullied  stream. 

Hope  o'er  its  tide  her  radiance  throws, 
And  Faith  sheds  forth  her  holier  beam. 


6* 


POEMS. 


COMMUNION  HYMN. 

THE  hallowed  morn  returns  again, 

Faith's  gazing  eye  to  greet 
O  !  let  not  sin  our  spirits  stain, 

As  round  the  board  we  meet ;  — 
But  may  our  hearts,  from  earth  set  free, 
Aspire,  Eternal  One  !  to  Thee. 

God  !  let  us  bow  in  fervent  prayer, 

Around  Thy  sacred  throne  ; 
And  as  we  cast  on  thee  our  care, 

Worship  thy  name  alone. 
And  let  remembered  love  impart 
A  glow  of  heaven  to  every  heart, 

Here  may  we  gather  strength  and  might, 

Life's  trial  way  to  tread ; 
And  may  Thy  Spirit's  guiding  light,  — 

Faith's  beaming  ray  be  shed : 
So  may  the  holier  path  be  pressed, 
Which  leads  to  Thee,  and  heaven's  sweet  rest. 


TO   THE   MEMORY   OF  A  YOUNG  LADY.  63 


TO   THE   MEMORY   OP  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

FAREWELL  !  sweet  friend,  farewell ! 
Thine  eye  hath  lost  its  light  since  last  we  met, 
And  on  thy  brow  death's  icy  seal  is  set. 

Our  mingling  voices  swell 
A  mournful  requiem  o'er  thy  early  tomb, 
Thou  called  to  share  its  deep,  unbroken  gloom. 

Yes !  it  is  well  to  weep. 
The  lost !  the  lovely,  —  claims  not  she  a  tear, 
Whose  smile  was  sunshine  while  it  lingered  here  ? 

Above  thy  dreamless  sleep 
Shall  not  the  heart  its  gushing  fountains  shed, 
Thou  summoned  hence,  death's  silent  way  to  tread  ? 

But  not  in  fear,  unblest, 

Through  its  dark  chambers  didst  thou  take  thy  way : 
God's  gracious  presence  was  the  beaming  ray 

That  led  thee  to  thy  rest. 
One  glorious  guerdon  fixed  thy  fearless  eye, 
The  Christian's  rest  beyond  the  o'er-arching  sky. 

Shall  we  bewail  thy  doom  ? 

We  the  lone  wanderers  on  time's  wave- washed  strand, 
And  thou,  blest  dweller  mid  the  promised  land  ? 

Ours  is  the  lot  of  gloom  : 
O'er  us  thy  tears  of  pity  should  be  shed, 
If  they  can  weep  the  heavenly  shores  who  tread. 


64  POEMS. 

O !  let  our  souls  rejoice, 

That  thou  hast  joined  that  rich,  harmonious  strain, 
Where  perfect  love  and  fadeless  beauty  reign. 

It  was  a  Father's  voice 

Which  called  thee  hence,  beneath  his  smile  to  dwell ; 
In  heaven,  thy  strain  of  holy  joy  to  swell. 

Great  Source  of  Faith  and  Love  ! 
O  !  may  we  bow  submissive  to  Thy  will : 
May  each  repining,  murmuring  thought  be  still. 

To  Thy  blest  seat  above, 

When  we  death's  yet  untrodden  path  shall  tread, 
Thither,  O  may  our  wandering  steps  be  led. 


THE   SOWER  AND   HIS  SEED. 

WE  met,  a  small  and  feeble  band, 
Around  God's  holy  throne  to  stand ; 
The  prayer  of  humble  faith  to  raise, 
And  swell  the  choral  hymn  of  praise. 

Our  strength  was  weak.     But  He  whose  ear 
His  children's  humblest  prayer  will  hear, 
Was  in  our  midst,  a  shining  Light, 
Our  Sun  by  day,  our  Shield  at  night. 


THE    SOWER   AND   HIS    SEED.  65 

What  though  no  ear  could  catch  the  song, 
Breathed  by  the  spotless  herald-throng  ? 
What  though  no  tone  in  thunder  spoke, 
Or  forth  no  visioned  glories  broke  ? 

The  "  still,  small  voice  "  of  holy  love, 
The  Faith,  which  lifts  the  soul  above, 
The  hope  that  checks  each  rising  fear, 
Proclaimed  His  gracious  presence  near. 

There  were  the  precious  seed-drops  given, 
To  root,  to  bud,  to  bloom  for  heaven. 
There,  too,  the  dewy  influence  fell, 
Life's  still,  though  onward  march  to  tell. 

Eternal  God  !  whose  eye  can  trace 
The  scattered  seed,  the  dew  of  grace, 
O  [  teach  our  weary,  faltering  feet, 
Unharmed,  life's  gathering  ills  to  meet. 

And  when  our  steps,  though  weal  or  wo 
May  crown  our  daily  lot  below, 
Shall  cease  life's  varied  path  to  roam, 
O !  lead  us  to  the  Christian's  home. 


66 


POEMS. 


REMEMBER  ME. 

WHEN  morn  puts  on  her  dewy  veil, 
And  sheds  her  breath  on  every  gale  ; 
When  all  around,  below,  above, 
Is  life  and  gladness,  joy  and  love, 

O  !  then  remember  me  ! 

When  evening  comes,  with  pensive  smile, 
Thy  weary  spirit  to  beguile  ;  — 
When  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  is  stealing  by, 
Waking  the  not  unpleasant  sigh, 

O !  then  remember  me  ! 

When  mid  the  gathered  shades  of  night, 
Thine  eyes,  in  vain,  sweet  sleep  invite, 
And  Memory's  ray  around  the  past, 
Like  some  sweet,  soothing  spell  is  cast, 
O  !  then  remember  me  ! 

When  joy  its  strain  of  gladness  breathes, 
And  hope  sweet  flowers  of  promise  wreathes ; 
When  light  and  glad  thy  heart  may  be, 
And  thou  no  gathering  cloud  canst  see, 
O  !  then  remember  me  ! 

When  grief  across  thy  stricken  soul 
Its  tide  of  mingled  ills  may  roll ;  — 
When  fading  from  thy  sight  away, 
Thou  seest  each  cherished  hope  decay, 
O !  then  remember  me ! 


JEPHTHAH'S  vow.  67 

In  every  scene,  —  or  weal,  or  wo,  — 
Mid  grief's  sad  tear,  or  joy's  bright  glow, 
I  ask  one  boon,  my  path  to  cheer,  — 
In  joy,  thy  smile, —  in  grief,  thy  tear,  — 
Sweet  friend !  remember  me  ! 


JEPHTHAH'S  VOW. 

His  lips  have  breathed  the  vow. 
Thou  God  of  battles,  who  alone  canst  bring 
Deliverance  to  thy  children,  in  the  hour 
Of  doubt  and  terror,  here  I  bend  to  Thee. 
Hear  thou  my  vow.     Before  Thy  throne  I  swear, 
That  should  the  haughty  race  of  Ammon  bend, 
In  homage  low,  to  Thy  victorious  sway, 
The  first  who  cometh  forth  with  song  and  dance, 
To  greet  my  proud  return  from  victory, 
Shall  be  to  Thee  a  holy  sacrifice 
Of  gratitude. 

The  victory  was  his  ; 
And  laden  with  the  trophies  of  his  power, 
Jephthah  returned.     Was  there  no  whispering  fear 
To  cloud  his  brow,  to  dim  his  eye  with  tears 
To  send  to  its  pure  source  the  eager  tide 
Which  swelled  his  veins  and  flushed  his  cheek  with  joy  ? 

But  who  comes  forth  to  meet  him  on  his  way  ? 
What  sounds  of  joy,  what  minstrel  notes  of  praise, 


68  POEMS. 

To  greet  the  hero  from  the  battle-field  ? 

It  was  his  only  child,  —  she  whose  pure  smile 

First  woke  him  to  that  gush  of  ecstasy,  — 

A  father's  priceless,  unabated  love,  — 

The  bright,  glad  being  who,  in  joy's  gay  hour, 

As  in  the  time  of  grief,  had  been  with  him, 

To  share  his  mirth  or  to  assuage  his  wo. 

And  shall  it  be  ?     Must  that  young  life-tide  check 
Its  healthy  gushings  from  the  heart's  deep  fount  ? 
Must  that  fond  eye,  so  brightly  turned  on  him, 
That  eye  which  beamed  and  shone  for  him  alone, 
Be  closed  in  death  and  gloom  ;  and  must  those  lips 
Which  smiled  upon  him  in  their  joyous  mirth, 
Which  breathed  devotion's  purest  offering, 
And  tuned  their  minstrelsy  in  holy  songs 
Of  praise  to  God,  be  hushed  in  the  cold  tomb, 
No  more  to  cheer  him  with  their  radiant  smile, 
Or  speak  to  him  of  bliss  ? 

O !  what  was  life, 

What  the  proud  consciousness  of  victory, 
When  thoughts  of  that  bright  being  filled  his  soul  ? 
The  father's  heart  grew  sick.     There  was  no  smile 
Upon  his  lip,  to  greet  his  only  child  : 
No  voice  of  welcome  issued  from  his  mouth. 
His  brow  was  furrowed,  and  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
While  the  firm  pressure  of  his  fast-closed  lip 
Told  but  too  well  the  conflict  in  his  soul. 

A  moment,  and  his  lips  broke  forth  in  sounds 
Of  grief.     He  clasped  her  to  his  breast  and  said, 
"  My  child,  my  only  child,  how  have  I  loved 
To  gaze  on  thee,  and  think,  that  when  the  cares 


JEPHTHAH'S  vow. 

And  ills  of  life  would  rudely  press  on  me, 

Thou  wouldst  be  near  to  comfort  and  sustain. 

Ay,  thou  hast  brought  me  low;  for  I  have  sworn,  - 

That  vow,  alas  !  it  cannot  be  recalled  ; 

And  I  must  yield  thee  up  to  Him  to  whom 

In  a  rash  hour  I  vowed  to  offer  thee, 

A  grateful  sacrifice." 

The  gentle  girl  bent  down. 
No  prayer  for  life  was  on  her  parted  lip  : 
She  knew  her  hour  was  come  ;  she  felt  that  life, 
With  all  its  promised  blessings,  soon  would  close. 
She  knew  her  eye  on  earth  no  more  would  cheer 
Her  aged  father's  heart.     She  asked  not  life  : 
But  holy  gratitude  was  in  her  heart, 
Apd  the  pure  fervor  of  a  grateful  soul 
Glowed  on  her  cheek  and  kindled  in  her  eye  ; 
And  praise  was  on  her  lips,  praise  to  His  name 
Who  had  that  day  the  glorious  victory  given. 

She  sought  a  hallowed  blessing  from  her  sire. 
"  My  father !  if  thy  lip  hath  sworn  to  Him 
Who  hath  this  day  brought  victory  to  thee, 
Do  unto  me  according  to  thy  vow. 
O  !  life  is  sweet,  and  the  blest  consciousness 
Of  living  for  my  sire,  to  cheer  his  heart, 
Amid  its  secret,  silent  loneliness, 
Comes  o'er  my  spirit  like  the  tones  which  breathed 
From  a  fond  mother's  love,  in  childhood's  hour. 
But  I  can  leave  all  these  ;  there  is  a  joy 
Which  far  transcends  all  earthly  bliss,  the  thought 
That  I  may  watch  o'er  thee  in  happier  realms, 
And  hover  round  thy  couch  of  midnight  rest. 
7 


70 


POEMS. 


Deep,  wondrous  thoughts  possess  my  secret  soul,  — 

Thoughts  to  which  words  could  give  no  utterance, 

So  strange,  yet  holy,  is  the  strain  they  breathe. 

True  as  the  voice  of  sacred  prophecy, 

Comes  to  my  mind,  the  sweet,  assuring  thought, 

That  I  but  leave  my  father's  fond  embrace, 

For  some  bright  realm  where  we  may  live  and  love, 

When  this  fair  earth  shall  yield  us  no  abode, 

And  I  may  be  the  unseen  messenger 

To  waft  thy  soul  to  that  most  blessed  home. 

Calmly  I  leave  thee  for  a  few  short  years  ; 

And,  O  !  it  is  a  soothing  thought  to  me 

In  my  last  hour  of  life,  that  thou  hast  gained 

O'er  our  proud  foe  the  glorious  victory." 

No  tear  bedimmed  the  lustre  of  her  eye  ; 

Her  cheek  was  bright  as  in  its  happiest  hour. 

Her  lips  were  parted  in  a  gentle  smile, 

That  told  her  willingness  to  die  for  him 

From  whom,  at  first,  she  drew  the  springs  of  life. 


FOURTH   OF   JULY.  71 


JULY  4,  1838. 

A  HOLY  sight !  for  gathered  there, 
With  head  bowed  low  in  silent  prayer, 
That  youthful,  yet  immortal  band, 
Within  their  Maker's  presence  stand. 

Called  from  each  scene  of  week-day  joy, 
Far  holier  themes  their  thoughts  employ  : 
Each  tongue  the  choral  anthem  swells, 
Where  God's  most  holy  Spirit  dwells. 

Grief  hath  not  stained  the  sunny  brow  ; 
Joy's  tearless  fount  flows  brightly  now : 
Their  budding  hopes  have  known  no  blight, 
And  life  still  wears  its  hues  of  light. 

Jesus !  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way ! 
Whose  words  conduct  to  endless  day, 
Shepherd !  whose  flock  is  still  thy  care, 
Let  those  young  lambs  thy  blessing  share. 

And  when  life's  summer  day  shall  close, 
And  weary  nature  seeks  repose, 
To  thy  blest  fold  their  footsteps  bring  : 
Lead  them  where  living  waters  spring. 


72  POEMS. 


MIDNIGHT. 

MIDNIGHT,  —  and  nature  round  was  hushed 
In  deep  and  dreamy  slumber  :  not  a  sound, 
Wherewith  by  day  earth's  busy  multitudes 
Are  wont  to  break  her  sweet  repose,  came  o'er 
The  ear,  to  tell  of  earthly  care  and  strife. 
The  bird's  sweet  silvery  voice  had  ceased  its  strain ; 
And  man,  whose  bustling  cares  are  most  at  war 
With  Nature,  in  the  deep  tranquillity 
With  which  she  works  her  great  and  glorious  deeds, 
Kept  silence  too,  in  this  her  Sabbath  hour 
Of  rest  and  deep  devotion. 

Night !  thou  great 
And  ministering  spirit  to  the  soul 
Of  man,  breathing  of  truth,  and  heaven,  and  God ! 
How  dost  thou  lift  the  heart  above  the  cares 
And  groveling  thoughts  of  earth,  its  trivial  things, 
And  link  us  to  the  Majesty  above. 
Above?     O!  everywhere,  around,  beneath, 
Within,  amid  the  kindling  light  of  day, 
The  hushed  repose  of  midnight,  in  the  storm 
And  crash  of  elements,  no  less  than  in 
The  gentle  breeze,  that  scarcely  stirs  the  young 
And  dew-gemmed  blossoms  of  the  leafy  May. 
There  is  a  beauty  in  the  noontide  blaze ; 
But  dearer  far  those  starry  crowns  on  high, 
That  shine  all  gloriously  upon  the  brow  of  night.. 


MIDNIGHT.  73 

By  day,  amid  the  thronging  cares  of  life, 

We  can  forget  the  dignity  of  him 

Whose  nature  links  him  to  the  myriad  hosts, 

That  dwell  amid  the  uncreated  beams 

Of  heaven's  effulgent  day.     We  can  forget 

How  we  have  turned  us  from  the  sacred  Fount 

Of  truth  and  wisdom  infinite.     But  when 

Its  star-gemmed  mantle,  darkness  casts  around, 

O !  who  can  gaze  upon  the  countless  realms 

That  stud  the  azure  canopy  above, 

Nor  feel  his  littleness,  the  vanity 

Of  earth  and  all  its  joys,  the  priceless  wealth 

Of  heaven,  and  all  his  own  immortal  hopes  ? 

Who  does  not  yearn  to  soar  to  that  abode, 

Promised  a  sure  and  holy  heritage, 

To  those  who  follow  His  supreme  command, 

Whose  will  created  man  for  bliss  and  heaven  ? 

Thou  sacred  Fount  of  purity  and  love  ! 
Whose  guiding  hand  my  feeble  steps  upholds, 
O  !  give  me  strength  that  narrow  way  to  tread, 
Which  leads  me  through  the  mazy  path  of  earth 
To  heaven. 


POEMS. 


FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL!  a  spell  of  magic  power 
Is  lingering  round  this  parting  hour ; 
And  deep  within  my  spirit  swell 
Feelings  which  words  in  vain  would  tell. 

Farewell !  as  strangers  meet  we  met ; 
But  now  a  holier  seal  is  set : 
As  friends  we  breathe  the  parting  strain, 
Trusting  in  love  to  meet  again. 

Farewell !  thine  eye  with  joy  is  bright ; 
Few  be  the  clouds  that  dim  its  light. 
Thy  heart,  —  a  stranger  may  not  know 
Its  secret  bliss,  its  secret  wo. 

Farewell !  yet  on  that  sweetest  shrine 
Love  still  would  lay  its  gift  divine  ; 
And  holy  truth  the  offering  seal", 
Which  words  alone  can  ne'er  reveal. 

Farewell !  the  choicest  gifts  of  Heaven, 
To  cheer  thy  onward  path  be  given  : 
Thy  life  be  blest  with  friends  sincere, 
The  many  kind,  the  few  most  dear. 


SPES    MEA   IN   DEO.  75 


SPES  MEA  IN   DEO. 

A  TENDER  flower  upon  its  stem, 
Bloomed  beautiful  and  bright,  — 

Jeweled  with  many  a  dewy  gem, 
In  morning's  early  light. 

The  sunbeams  on  its  petals  smiled, 

And  hues  of  beauty  shed. 
All  fragrant  and  all  undented, 

It  reared  its  graceful  head. 

How  dear  that  sweetly  opening  flower, 

To  each  fond  gazer's  eye  ; 
Expanding  with  each  golden  hour, 

Beneath  love's  sunny  sky  ! 

How  sweet  to  mark,  from  day  to  day, 

Its  budding  beauties  bloom  ; 
To  watch  each  rainbow-tinted  ray, 

And  scent  its  rich  perfume. 

*  *  # 

The  floweret  faded,  withered,  fell : 

Its  hues  no  more  we  trace. 
Its  ashes,  —  love's  dimmed  eye  can  tell 

Their  hallowed  resting-place. 

Yet  hope  in  God  !     His  guardian  hand, 

In  deepest  darkness  nigh, 
Shall  bid  its  richer  hues  expand, 

Beneath  heaven's  cloudless  sky. 


76  POEMS. 

Safe  from  the  blighting  hand  of  Time, 
From  sin's  rude  touch  secure, 

It  blooms  in  that  most  holy  clime,  — 
The  fadeless  and  the  pure. 


THE  LAST    WORDS    OF    THE    SON   OF   NAPOLEON 
BONAPARTE. 


"  A  vingt  et  un  ans  mourir  sans  gloire.  quand  1'epee  que  je  tiens 
fait  1'Europe  trembler." 

To  die  ?     What  strangely  awful  spell 

Those  low-breathed  accents  shed, 
Of  early  blighted  hopes  to  tell, 

Of  dreams  forever  fled  ! 
Too  early  am  I  called  to  go 

From  earth's  bright  things  away, 
Ere  Glory  yet  my  soul  may  know, 

Or  mid  Fame's  laurels  stray. 

Ay,  I  have  lived  :  but  none  may  yield 

The  victor's  triumph  praise  : 
No  conquering  hosts  on  battle-field 

Their  glorious  song  may  raise. 
Napoleon's  son  !     Earth's  glittering  things 

To  me  were  all  in  vain  : 
Where  is  the  voice,  whose  homage  brings 

One  proud,  triumphant  strain  ? 


THE    LAST    WORDS,    ETC.  77 

My  father's  sword  !    I  know  it  well ; 

It  is  my  proudest  dower : 
Let  Europe's  trembling  millions  tell 

What  was  its  magic  power. 
It  led  him  nobly  on  to  Fame  ; 

It  won  him  bright  renown  ; 
It  brought  proud  incense  to  his  name,  — 

A  monarch's  jeweled  crown. 

Hark  !  hark  !  is  not  that  lofty  note 

My  requiem-strain  to  be  ? 
Upon  the  air  its  echoes  float ; 

My  father's  hand  I  see. 
Faint  —  fainter  grows  my  breath :  my  frame 

In  death  must  slumber  soon. 
Let  me  but  share  my  father's  fame  ; 

I  ask  no  prouder  boon. 


78  POEMS. 


IMMORTALITY. 

THE  soul  will  never  die. 
The  gorgeous  tints  of  earth  will  fade  away, 
And  night's  dark  clouds  obscure  the  brightest  day ; 

But  in  the  realms  on  high, 
Where  never  comes  decay,  or  death,  or  gloom, 
The  soul  in  everlasting  light  shall  bloom. 

O  !  glorious  destiny  ! 

What  shall  restrain  the  spirit's  upward  flight, 
When  heaven's  pure  rays  burst  on  the  ravished  sight  ? 

Father  in  heaven  !  to  Thee, 
For  this  blest  hope  the  heart  would  humbly  raise 
Its  grateful  offering  of  prayer  and  praise. 

O  !  let  the  spirit  raise 
Its  faith,  its  love,  to  that  celestial  clime, 
And  bless  its  glorious  King  in  strains  sublime. 

Him  glowing  seraphs  praise  ; 
And  what  more  nobly  can  the  tongue  employ, 
Than  strains  to  Him  whose  smile  is  perfect  joy  ? 

Then  raise  the  thoughts  to  Him, 
Ere  age  its  chilling  influence  impart ; 
Let  the  pure  fervor  of  the  grateful  heart, 

Ere  the  bright  eye  be  dim, 
Ere  yet  the  lip  by  death  shall  be  subdued, 
Arise  to  Him  in  love  and  gratitude. 


THY    MEMORY   WE    WILL    KEEP.  79 


"THY  MEMORY  WE  WILL  KEEP.' 

YES  !    we  will  keep  thy  memory  bright, 
A  sweet  and  stainless  gift,  — 

A  spell  from  sorrow's  clouds  of  night, 
Our  yearning  hearts  to  lift. 

Thine  was  a  name  o'er  which  to  shed 

Our  sweetest  meed  of  love. 
Too  early  wast  thou  called  to  tread 

Thy  radiant  path  above  ? 

Too  early  ?  No.     The  wish  were  vain 

By  earthly  anguish  given, 
To  call  thy  spirit  back  again, 

From  God,  and  bliss,  and  heaven. 

For  thou  hast  plumed  thy  golden  wing, 
And  sped  thy  glorious  flight, 

To  stoop  thee  only  at  the  spring 
Of  endless  life  and  light. 


80  POEMS. 


TO   A  YOUNG   LADY. 

O !  LIFE  has  many  a  joyous  hour, 
And  many  a  fragrant,  sunny  bower : 
Life  has  its  joys  to  memory  given, 
To  whisper  to  the  heart  of  heaven, 

I  look  upon  thy  happy  face, 
And  see  of  care  no  gloomy  trace  : 
I  gaze  upon  that  child-like  brow, 
So  calmly  bright,  so  joyous  now. 

I  would  not  pray  that  beauty's  spell 
Forever  on  that  brow  may  dwell ; 
For  beauty  may  not  soothe  to  rest 
The  secret  anguish  of  the  breast. 

I  would  not  pray  that  thou  shouldst  be 
From  every  care  and  sorrow  free  ; 
That  stern  misfortune  ne'er  may  shed 
Its  influence  o'er  that  fair  young  head. 

Beauty  and  grace  alone  are  vain  : 
They  plant  a  thorn,  they  leave  a  stain. 
There  is  a  purer,  holier  gift, 
The  heart  above  earth's  cares  to  lift. 

And  be  that  gracious  blessing  thine, 
To  lay  upon  thy  young  heart's  shrine  ; 
Dispel  each  dark,  repining  care, 
And  make  all  bright  and  joyous  there. 


ASPIRATION.  81 


ASPIRATION. 

AUTHOR  of  all  my  blessings  here  ! 
Whose  word  can  stay  the  bitter  tear ; 
Source  of  my  life  !  my  Strength !  my  All ! 
On  thy  dread  name  my  voice  would  call. 

Endued  with  virtue's  high  desires, 
The  deathless  soul  to  heaven  aspires : 
Above  the  scenes  of  earth  it  soars, 
And  there  its  glorious  King  adores. 

O  !  let  not  sin  my  spirit  stain  ; 
Let  me  not  read  Thy  word  in  vain  : 
Let  me  from  error's  touch  be  free ; 
And  fix  my  steadfast  heart  on  Thee. 

Earth !  with  thy  glittering  dust,  away  ! 
Not  for  thy  dazzling  gifts  I  pray  : 
But  may  the  gem  alone  be  given, 
Whose  brightness  lights  my  path  to  heaven. 


8 


82  POEMS. 


THE   MUSICAL  BOX. 

The  little  incident,  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  following 
lines,  is  full  of  touching  beauty  and  interest.  When  all  other  ex- 
pedients, which  love  could  suggest,  had  failed  to  pacify  the  moan- 
ings  of  an  infant's  grief,  the  melody  of  a  musical  box,  by  some 
sweet  magic,  soothed  its  sorrow,  and  soon  lulled  it  into  the  placid 
and  beautiful  slumber  of  infancy. 

THOUGH  but  a  simple  lure  we  used,  when  all  save  that 

had  failed, 
Yet  that  to  soothe  thy  infant  grief,  by  some  sweet  spell, 

availed ; 

And  as  its  gentle  cadence  seemed  to  fall  upon  thy  ear, 
It   sweetly  checked  the   rising  sob,  —  turned  back  the 

starting  tear. 

When  first  that  low-breathed  melody  so  gently  o'er  thee 

broke, 
What  thoughts  within  thy  heart's   deep   cells  in  silent 

beauty  woke  ? 
What  vision  beamed  across  thy  soul,  as  on  thine  ear  it 

fell, 
That  thus  thy  voice,  so  sad,  yet  dear,  a  sweeter  strain 

could  swell  ? 

Say,  didst  thou  deem  that  soothing  lay  thy  mother's  voice 

to  be, 
That  thus  its  tones  had  power  to  wake  so  sweet  a  joy  in 

thee  ? 


THE    MUSICAL   BOX.  83 

Or   seemed  it  to  thine  infant   ear  a  gracious   prelude 

given, 
To  teach  thy  sinless  soul  on  earth,  the  strains  which  swell 

in  heaven  ? 

She,  whom  the  earliest  day-beam  finds  a  lingerer  o'er 

thy  rest,  — 
She  who  so  oft,  at  day's  soft  close,  thy  gentle  sleep  hath 

blest ; — 
Hers  is  the  ceaseless  flow  of  love,  so  tender   and   so 

deep, 
That  as  a  gem  in   memory's  crown,  thine  after  years 

should  keep. 

A  mother's  love  !  when  ever  failed  that  fount  of  ten- 
derness ? 

Or  when  refused  a  mother's  heart  to  love,  to  soothe,  to 
bless  ? 

Time  cannot  break  the  golden  chain  which  links  that 
heart  to  thee  : 

It  asks  to  swell  its  yearning  depths  one  boon,  —  Eter- 
nity. 

Thou  blessed  one !  thy  favored  race  a  transcript  meet, 

was  given 
To   image   forth   the   purity  of  those   whose   home   is 

heaven. 
In  youth  or  age,  O  !  may  thy  feet  the  holy  pathway 

tread, 
Which  leads  thee  to-  his  arms,  whose  lips  the  gracious. 

blessing  shed. 


84  POEMS. 


THE  DEATH  OF  LEONIDAS. 

THE  golden  light  of  day  was  o'er  ; 

The  sun  had  left  the  glorious  west : 
The  bird's  sweet  notes  were  heard  no  more ; 

Nature  around  was  all  at  rest. 
That  rest  was  well.     To  ancient  Greece, 

The  morrow  was  a  fearful  day. 
It  brought  her  high-souled  sons  release, 

Or  bowed  them  to  a  tyrant's  sway. 

Yet  in  that  proud  and  storied  land, 

All  might  not  share  calm  Nature's  sleep. 
There  stood  a  firm,  devoted  band, 

Faithful  their  sacred  watch  to  keep. 
They  stood  upon  that  battle  eve, 

Resolved,  with  purpose  firm  and  high, 
A  Spartan's  heritage  to  leave,  — 

To  conquer,  or  unsullied  die. 

Amid  that  stern  debate  he  rose, 

His  will  to  speak,  that  kingly  soul. 
No  fear  his  purpose  might  oppose  ; 

No  selfish  thoughts  his  mind  control. 
Leonidas  !  thy  name  we  trace 

Bright  upon  Sparta's  deathless  page  ; 
The  glory  of  thy  glorious  race, 

Bravest  mid  that  heroic  age. 

He  rose,  his  soul  unnerved  by  fear, 
Foremost  in  that  most  princely  band. 


THE   DEATH   OF  LEONIDAS.  85 

"  O !  can  I  count  my  life-blood  dear, 
When  shed  for  thee,  my  native  land  ? 

True  to  the  land  where  calmly  sleep 
The  ashes  of  our  warrior  sires  ; 

True  to  the  Gods  who  watch  to  keep 
Still  glowing  Freedom's  sacred  fires  ;  — 

Fearless  within  the  battle's  strife, 

To  front  the  Persian's  ranks  I  go. 
I  freely  offer  hand  and  life, 

Nor  fear  to  meet  our  haughty  foe. 
Shall  Sparta's  children  ever  flee, 

Though  ranks  of  foemen  cross  their  path  ? 
My  mother !  I  have  learned  from  thee, 

Nobly  to  face  their  direst  wrath. 

Have  ye  forgot  the  words  she  spoke, 

Who  taught  "  to  conquer  or  to  die  ?  " 
Who  first  proud  freedom's  impulse  woke, 

And  nerved  the  soul  to  daring  high  ? 
"  Bring  back  thy  shield,  or,  as  a  bier, 

Let  it  unsullied  bear  thee  home  : 
Thou  may'st  not  shed  the  coward  tear, 

Nor  she  who  here  alone  shall  roam. 

"  One  wall  alone  the  foe  may  scale,  — 

The  dead  of  Sparta,  nobly  slain. 
Though  millions  may  that  pass  assail, 

No  fear  shall  e'er  our  spirits  stain. 
Then,  brethren,  follow  to  the  field  ; 

Conquer,  or  nobly,  proudly  die. 
In  death  alone  your  birthright  yield,. 

In  glory  breathe  your  parting  sigh..'* 
8* 


86  POEMS. 

Finished  !  where  fell  that  martyr  band  ? 

Where  slept  that  leader  with  his  dead  ? 
To  save  that  proud  and  storied  land, 

Brave  blood  by  Sparta  there  was  shed. 
Leonidas  !  thy  glorious  place 

Is  'mid  thy  country's  purest  fame. 
Nor  ruthless  time  can  e'er  efface 

The  memory  of  thy  matchless  name. 


PARAPHRASE    OF    THE   TWELFTH    CHAPTER  OF 
ECCLESIASTES. 


IN  the  pure  freshness  of  thine  opening  spring, 
Ere  yet  the  dark  days  hang  around  thy  way, 
Or  the  soul  turns  with  loathing  from  the  scenes 
Which  once  were  joyous  to  its  ardent  gaze, 
O  !  in  thy  lender  years,  "  remember  God." 

To  thee  the  hour  will  come  when  earth,  though  robed 
Still  in  its  primal  blessedness  and  light, 
Shall  be  a  darksome  blank  to  thee  ;  the  sun, 
Dispensing  light,  and  life,  and  joy  around, 
Shall  bring  no  light  to  thee,  no  life,  no  joy. 
The  stars  shall  keep  their  pathway  bright  on  high, 
Unchanged,  unchangeable,  until  His  word, 
Who  woke  from  night  their  glowing  radiance, 


TWELFTH    CHAPTER    OF    ECCLESIASTES.  87 

Dissolves  the  elements  with  fervent  heat, 
And  casts  them  as  a  scroll  beneath  Him.     Then, 
When  they  who  guard  the  house  shall  quit  their  trust, 
And  the  strong  men  and  brave  shall  bow  themselves, 
When  the  bright  eye  is  dimmed  and  closed  in  death, 
Earth  then  can  give  no  pride,  no  loveliness. 

Music  shall  fail  to  touch  the  springs  of  joy, 
And  gloomy  fears  shall  gather  thick  around. 
That  which  thou  once  didst  pass  unnoticed  by, 
When  life's  bright  path  was  strewed  with  living  flowers, 
Shall  be  a  burden  to  thy  aching  frame. 
When  o'er  thy  heart  shall  corne  no  fond  desire 
For  future  wealth  or  fame,  no  cherished  hope, 
To  guide  thee  as  a  beacon  star  through  life  ; 
When  life's  bright  cord  is  loosened,  and  the  soul 
Pants  for  communion  with  its  God  and  heaven, 
Man  shall  return  to  his  long,  silent  home  ; 
The  mourner,  sorrowing,  tread  his  wonted  way. 
The  dust  shall  mingle  with  its  kindred  dust, 
Shall  be  a  tenant  of  the  silent  tomb, 
Where  all  shall  shortly  lay  their  weary  frames. 

But  rouse,  my  soul !  what  blissful  flight  is  thine  ? 
Say,  can  the  grave  retain  thee  in  its  gloom  ? 
No,  like  the  eagle's  shall  thy  pathway  be, 
Where  eye  hath  never  reached  its  piercing  gaze, 
Where  stars  shine  bright  beneath  the  eye  of  God  : 
Not  like  the  orbs  which  meet  our  mortal  sight, 
But  crowns  of  glory  for  the  immortal  soul. 

Father  of  light  and  life  !  shall  erring  man, 
Who,  though  allied  to  dull  mortality, 


POEMS. 

Bears  yet  with  him  a  glorious  type  of  Thee, 
Shall  he  arise  to  meet  Thy  cheering  eye, 
To  share  this  glorious  destiny  of  soul  ? 
It  is  Thy  free,  Thy  gracious  gift  to  man, 
This  heaven,  this  blissful  immortality. 
Let  earth  be  all  unheeded  by  our  ears  ; 
But  let  our  grateful  souls  arise  to  Thee, 
Bend  at  Thy  throne  in  humble  love  and  praise, 
Be  circled  by  the  crown  of  fadeless  gems, 
Promised  by  thee  but  to  the  "  pure  in  heart." 


«  WHERE  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE   LORD   IS,  THERE  IS 
LIBERTY." 


SPIRIT  of  Beauty  !  on  whose  brow  such  placid  light  we  see, 
Where  is  thy  temple  unprofaned,  immortal  Liberty  ? 
Whose  columns,  towering  to  the  skies,  give  back  their 

cloudless  ray,  — 
An  image  beautiful,  though  faint,  of  heaven's  celestial 

day. 

Where'er  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  its  radiant  gifts  hath  shed, 

In  stately  grandeur,  strength,  and  grace,  there  do  thy 
footsteps  tread. 

There  dost  thou  consecrate  thy  shrine,  thefe  rear  thy 
lofty  dome, 

Whither  thy  wandering,  ones  may  turn,  as  to  a  long- 
sought  home. 


WHERE   THE    SPIRIT    OF   THE   LORD    IS,  ETC.  89 

Where'er  in  Nature's  wide  domain  one  step  her  soil  may 

press, 

A  soul  unawed  for  truth  to  plead,  the  injured  to  redress, 
Him  dost  Thou  own  thy  worshiper,  he  waits  before   thy 

shrine ; 
On  him  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  sheds  down  its  light  divine. 

Thee  we  invoke,  thou   Power  Supreme !    the  God   of 

liberty  ! 
Strength  of  the  weak,  in  doubt  our  Guide,  Great  Father 

of  the  free ! 
On  this  most  hallowed  day  we  bend  in  worship  at  Thy 

throne,  — 
A  nation  suppliant  at  Thy  feet,  their  father's  GOD  to 

own. 

For    the   rich   sunlight    of   our  lot   our   gratitude    we 

raise, 
And  for  the  shadow  and  the  storm,  O !    be  our  tribute 

praise  : 
Even  as  erst  through  the  parted  waves  that  ancient  race 

was  led, 
So  may  our  trusting  feet,  unharmed,  the  billowy  waters 

tread. 

Though  sad  the  lesson  be  which  Thou,  in  Thy  deep  love 

hast  given, 
O !  may  the  might  of  its  dread  power  peace  win  for  us, 

and  heaven. 
And  as  in  brighter  days,  our  souls  were  wont  to  stray 

from  Thee, 
Now  may  we  seek  that  priceless  pearl,  Thy  favor  full 

and  free. 


90  POEMS. 

Thanks  to  the  volume  of  Thy  word,  Thy  promise  does 

not  fail ; 
Summer  and  winter,  day  and  night,  in  glad  return  we 

hail  ; 
And  when  the  world  is  dark  below  we  raise  our  glance 

above : 
The  glorious  stars  rebuke  our  fears,  in  tender  tones  of 

love. 

If  sorrow's  hand  but  lead  us  back,  all  penitent  to  Theer 

Our  lips  shall  meekly  kiss  the  rod,  and  own  the  just  de- 
cree. 

Then  let  Thy  Spirit  with  our  souls  its  purposes  fulfil . 

We  cannot  fear  ;  —  our  Father's  love  hath  whispered 
"  Peace,  be  still." 

July  4,  1837. 


IN   HEAVEN    THE   WEARY   ARE   AT   REST.  91 


IN  HEAVEN  THE  "WEARY  ARE  AT  REST." 

REST  thee  !  thou  blessed  one  ! 
Thy  day  of  trial  and  of  grief  is  o'er, 
Thy  spirit  now  is  chained  to  earth  no  more, 

Thy  journey  here  is  done  ; 
And  the  blest  meed  to  purity  is  given,  — 
A  full,  a  perfect,  glorious  rest  in  heaven. 

Short  was  thy  sojourn  here  ; 
Yet  gentle  hands  beguiled  it  of  its  gloom, 
And  strewed  with  flowers  thy  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

There  was  the  smile  to  cheer  ; 
The  eye  to  beam  with  fond  affection's  ray  ; 
The  aching  heart  to  bid  thee  longer  stay. 

And  He,  thy  God,  was  there  ; 
His  glorious  presence  filled  thy  trusting  heart, 
His  gracious  smile  and  favor  to  impart. 

Thou  hadst  no  gloomy  care 
When  He,  thy  Father  and  thy  Friend,  was  nigh, 
To  cheer  thy  heart  and  still  each  anxious  sigh. 

Mourn  we  thy  spirit's  flight 
To  realms  of  pure,  undying  bliss  above, 
Where  thou  may'st  share  thy  Father's  perfect  love, 

The  fount  of  life  and  light  ? 
Never  shall  sorrow  in  those  realms  intrude, 
To  interrupt  thy  soul's  deep  gratitude. 


92  POEMS. 

Earth  had  no  home  for  thee  ; 
Thy  spirit  was  too  pure  to  linger  here,  — 
It  sought  its  rest  within  a  nobler  sphere  :  — 

O  glorious  destiny  ! 

Thy  feet  have  trodden  an  immortal  shore, 
And  earth  to  thy  freed  soul  is  now  no  more. 

But  we  must  longer  stay ; 
Yet  oft  the  eye  thy  early  doom  shall  weep, 
Oft  shall  we  wander  where  thy  ashes  sleep, 

Till  at  the  final  day 

Our  spirits  at  the  throne  of  God  shall  meet, 
And  cast  their  sorrows  at  his  mercy's  seat. 


SUNDAY  SCHOOL  FESTIVAL.    1837. 

FATHER  !  when  gathered  round  Thy  throne, 
Thy  name  to  bless,  Thy  love  to  own, 
Deign  with  our  contrite  souls  to  meet, 
Thus  suppliant  at  Thy  mercy  seat. 

Thanks  for  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  : 
What  strength  divine  its  words  afford ! 
Peace  when  the  angry  storm-clouds  lower, 
And  sweeter  joy  in  hope's  bright  hour. 


SUNDAY   SCHOOL   FESTIVAL. 

Bless,  Father !  bless  this  youthful  band, 
Who  here  around  Thine  altar  stand  ; 
Make  each  young  heart  Thy  favored  shrine, 
And  touch  it  with  Thy  fire  divine. 

And  he,  Thy  watchman  on  this  tower, 
Gird  him  with  grace,  and  strength,  and  power ; 
His  heart  -sustain,  his  spirit  cheer, 
And  bless  him  with  Thy  presence  here. 

Guide  those  who  wait  with  patient  love, 
To  point  each  infant  eye  above  ; 
To  them  a  priceless  meed  be  given,  — 
Thy  peace  on  earth,  Thy  smile  in  heaven. 

Press  on  !  ye  heralds  of  his  word  ! 
Follow  in  faith  your  risen  Lord ! 
Press  on  !  untiring,  till  your  eye 
Discern  the  land  of  promise  nigh. 

So  when  our  feet  its  shores  shall  tread, 
By  God  our  Father  gently  led, 
There  may  we  all  the  chorus  raise 
Of  fervent  prayer  and  grateful  praise. 


94  POEMS. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

FATHER  !  before  I  close  mine  eyes, 
To  Thee  my  grateful  thoughts  would  rise  ; 
For  all  the  mercies  of  the  day, 
My  heart  would  now  its  tribute  pay. 

Be  Thou  my  theme  of  daily  praise, 
Thou  great  and  good  in  all  Thy  ways ; 
And  daily  let  me  seek  in  prayer, 
Thy  watchful  love,  Thy  guardian  care. 

In  weakness  here  I  bend  to  Thee  ; 
Wilt  Thou  my  strength  in  weakness  be  ? 
In  error  here  my  footsteps  roam ; 
O  !  lead  me  to  my  heavenly  home. 

Thy  peace  as  holy  incense  shed 
O'er  my  defenceless,  sleeping  head ; 
And  through  the  dangers  of  the  night, 
Protect  me  safe  till  morning  light. 

In  safety  guide  my  wandering  feet, 
Till  -I  Thyself  in  glory  meet ; 
Then  take  me  to  Thy  heavenly  rest, 
To  be  with  Thee  forever  blest. 

There  shall  no  night  of  error  be  ; 
No  sin  divide  thy  smile  from  me  : 
But  perfect,  pure,  unchanging  day 
Beam  on  the  soul  its  glowing  ray. 


DEDICATION    HYMN.  95 


DEDICATION  HYMN. 

O  THOTT,  at  whose  supreme  command 
This  fair  creation  sprang  to  light ! 

We  who  within  Thy  presence  stand, 
Are  less  than  nothing  in  Thy  sight. 

Yet  shall  Thy  Spirit,  rich  and  free, 
Within  this  earthly  temple  dwell : 

Here  shall  our  prayers  ascend  to  Thee, 
Our  praise  as  breathing  incense  swell. 

To  Thee,  we  rear  these  sacred  walls, 
To  Thee  devote  the  hallowed  shrine. 

Here,  as  Thy  mercy's  sunlight  falls, 
O  !  be  our  noblest  homage  Thine. 

Through  Him,  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way, 
Through  Him,  Thy  holy,  harmless  Son, 

We  consecrate  these  walls  to  Thee, 
Eternal,  Uncreated  ONE  ! 

Here  may  the  early  grace  of  youth, 
The  hoary  crown  of  age  be  given  ; 

While  simple,  pure,  resistless  truth 
Descends  as  sacred  dew  from  heaven. 

And  when  at  time's  all-ruthless  sway, 
This  earthly  temple,  Lord,  shall  fall, 

And  Thou  shalt  close  life's  summer  day, 
And  back  the  unfettered  soul  recall,  — 


96  POEMS. 

To  Thine  eternal  shrine  above, 

Grant  that  its  golden  wing  may  soar  ; 

And  at  the  fount  of  truth  and  love, 
The  Eternal  Source  of  light  adore. 


TO 


BE  life's  bright  golden  pathway  thine  ; 
Thy  heart,  fair  friendship's  chosen  shrine. 
Be  joy  and  love  and  virtue  given, 
To  guide  thine  onward  path  to  heaven. 
Be  thine  the  beaming  light  of  truth, 
To  cheer  thine  age,  to  guide  thy  youth. 
Its  gracious  sunlight  may  it  sendy 
With  its  Great  Source  thy  heart  to  blend. 

Life  has  bright  scenes  for  youthful  love  j 
But  rest  thine  earnest  gaze  above. 
There  shall  no  error  dim  thy  sight, 
No  sin  obstruct  the  heavenly  light. 
O !  be  no  shade  of  sadness  cast 
Around  the  memory  of  the  past ; 
The  future,  —  may  its  pages  be 
Replete  with  purest  bliss  for  thee. 

And  when  life's  golden  bowl  shall  break, 
The  harp's  sweet  chords  no  music  wake ; 


OUR  FATHER,  WHO  ART  IN  HEAVEN.       97 

When  hushed  snail  be  joy's  wonted  strain, 
And  darkness  o'er  thy  home  shall  reign, 
O  !  may  the  light  of  love  divine, 
That  burns  on  heaven's  eternal  shrine, 
Conduct  thee,  by  its  quenchless  ray, 
Where  night  is  merged  in  endless  day. 


OUR  FATHER,  WHO  ART  IN  HEAVEN. 

FATHER,  enthroned  above  ! 

Whose  piercing  eye  earth's  wide  expanse  surveys, 
To  Thee  the  heart  its  grateful  homage  pays. 

Faith,  hope,  and  holy  love, 
To  rapture  high  the  inmost  spirit  swell, 
As  on  the  blessings  of  our  lot  we  dwell. 

O  Thou  Eternal  Spring 
Of  every  joy  frail  erring  man  can  know, 
Of  every  hope  that  lights  his  path  below ! 

Our  feeble  praise  we  bring. 
Yet  let  the  imperfect  gift  accepted  be, 
As  thus  with  reverence  low  we  bend  the  knee. 

Our  Father  !  gracious  name  ! 
O  !  how  can  earth  and  dust  aspire  so  high  ? 
Our  Sire  the  all-pervading  Majesty ! 

Feel  we  no  sacred  flame 
9* 


98  POEMS, 

Of  gratitude  the  kindling  soul  inSpire, 
And  wake  to  life  love's  never-dying  fire  ? 

On  Sinai's  awful  mount, 

Mid  flame  and  smoke  Thy  statutes  were  revealed. 
Thy  Son  a  milder,  brighter  covenant  sealed. 

Of  that  unsullied  fount, 

Whence  living  waters  pure  and  priceless  flow, 
Earth's  weary  pilgrims  e'en  can  taste  below. 

Our  Father !  Thou  whose  care, 
In  sun  or  shade,  is  still  around  our  way, 
To  soothe  and  bless  at  morn  and  close  of  day, 

Thou  wilt  not  spurn  our  prayer 
O !  wilt  thou  not  Thy  breathing  influence  shed, 
While  here  our  weary*  wandering  footsteps  tread  ? 

O  !  may  our  wishes  soar 
Far,  far  above  earth's  varied  care  and  strife, 
To  Thee,  the  Source  Supreme  of  light  and  life. 

So  may  our  souls  adore, 
As  bending  low  at  Thine  eternal  shrine, 
Our  hearts,  our  homage,  and  our.  wills  are  Thine. 


PARAPHRASE    OF   THE  SIXTY-FIFTH   PSALM.  99 


PARAPHRASE  OF  THE   SIXTY-FIFTH  PSALM. 

PRAISE  waits  in  Zion,  God  !  for  Thee  ! 

Earth's  purest  incense  shall  be  Thine  ! 
O  Thou,  who  hearest  prayer,  would  we 

In  homage  bend  before  Thy  shrine. 

Blessed  is  he  whose  feet  may  tread 

The  temple  of  Thy  Holiness, 
Thou  o'er  his  heart  Thy  love  wilt  shed, 

And  with  Thy  grace  his  soul  wilt  bless. 

Thy  mighty  word  is  sent  abroad, 

To  still  the  raging  of  the  sea. 
Thou  art  the  confidence,  O  Lord  ! 

Of  all  who  humbly  trust  in  Thee. 

The  morning's  fragrance  sweetly  tells, 

In  accents  soft,  that  God  is  love  ; 
And  evening's  dewy  incense  swells, 

Richly  to  Thy  pure  throne  above. 

Spring's  early  gifts  thy  love  proclaim : 

Thou  in  the  genial  rain  art  near  : 
The  glowing  Summer  speaks  thy  name  : 

Thy  power  and  goodness  crown  the  year. 

Great  Source  of  life  !  where'er  there  dwells 

A  being  formed  to  praise,  to  love, 
Thy  name  the  ceaseless  chorus  swells, 

Which  rises  to  Thy  throne  above. 


100  POEMS. 


"  THEY  WHO  SEEK  ME  EARLY,  SHALL  FIND  ME. " 

COME  unto  me  in  life's  fair  spring, 

Ere  sorrow  on  your  spirit  preys  ; 
To  me  your  young  affections  bring, 

And  give  to  me  your  brightest  days. 

Come  unto  me,  when  care  and  grief 

Have  touched  that  pure  and  happy  heart ; 

My  counsel  can  afford  relief, 

My  words  alone  can  peace  impart. 

Come  unto  me  and  tread  the  way, 

The  only  way  to  mortals  given, 
That  leads  to  an  eternal  day, 

That  brings  you  to  the  promised  heaven. 

Come  unto  me  ;  no  earthly  tongue 
Can  tell  the  joys  that  with  me  dwell ; 

Come,  join  the  strain  by  seraphs  sung, 
Who  here  the  song  of  triumph  swell. 

Come  unto  me  ;  for  you  that  strain 

In  realms  of  light  to  God  shall  rise, 
In  joy  that  freed  from  sin  and  pain, 

Your  spirit  enters  Paradise. 

Come  unto  me  ;  for  you  in  heaven 

Remains  a  pure,  eternal  day :  — 
The  perfect  rest  to  virtue  given, 

The  crown  "  that  fadeth  not  away." 


HYMN. 

WE  meet,  a  gathering  band, 
Within  these  sacred  walls, 
Within  Thy  presence,  Lord,  to  stand, 

Where  mercy's  sunlight  falls. 
With  humble  confidence  we  pray 
Thy  blessing  on  our  future  way. 

Here  would  we  bend  the  knee, 
The  earnest  prayer  to  raise  ; 
Here  sing,  Eternal  One,  to  Thee, 
Our  song  of  grateful  praise  : 
Here  would  we  own  thy  mighty  power, 
Thy  guiding  hand  in  every  hour. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  been  our  stay, 
Nor  e'er  withheld  Thy  care  : 
Though  dangers  hovered  o'er  our  way, 

Thy  arm  of  might  was  there. 
Thy  grace  our  wandering  steps  has  led, 
Thy  love  its  ceaseless  blessings  shed. 

Lord  !  to  the  living  spring, 

And  to  the  pastures  green, 

Do  Thou  our  feeble  footsteps  bring : 

Guide  us  in  every  scene* 
Our  Sun  by  day,  our  Shield  at  night, 
Protect,  illumine  by  Thy  might. 


POEMS. 


THE  APRIL  SHOWER. 

SEE,  how  the  raindrops,  fast  and  thick,  are  falling  at  our 

feet, 

And  clouds  of  sorrow  overcast  the  brows  of  all  we  meet. 
They  hurry  to  and  fro  to  seek  a  friendly  shelter  nigh  ; 
As  on  they  haste  no  gentle  shocks  salute  the  passer  by. 

A  fair  young  bride  is  drawing  nigh,  dressed  in  the  purest 

white, 

Alas  !  alas  !  her  wedding  gear  is  in  a  hapless  plight : 
The  satin  shoes  which  deck  her  feet,  as  on  she  wends 

her  way, 
Are  not  so  very  meet,  I  ween,  to  suit  an  April  day. 

Here  comes  a  gay  and  dashing  belle  ;  she  shares  the 

common  fate  : 
Too  well  her  sullied  garments  speak  the  horrors  of  her 

state. 

She  sees  no  gallant  lover  now,  to  soothe  her  troubles  nigh  ; 
And  o'er  her  brow  pass  darker  clouds,  than  o'er  yon 

murky  sky. 

Look  upon  yonder  ancient  maid,  with  slow  and  stately  air  ; 
She  little  thought  when  out  she  came,  this  woful  fate  to 

share. 
That  dress  had  not  beheld  the  light  of  day  for  many  a 

year; 
But,  as  the  weather  promised  well,  she  doffed  her  daily 

gear. 


THE   APRIL    SHOWER.  103 

A  mincing  dandy  next  comes  on  ;  but,  horrid  to  relate, 
He  rears  no  kind  umbrella  high,  to  shield  his  frizzled  pate. 
Most  sad  it  is  to  see  him  shrink  and  envy  all  who  pass, 
But  still  more  sad  to  see  him  raise  in  vain  for  aid  his 
glass. 

I  joy  to  see  the  bright  ones  run,  that  maiden  haste  her  pace  : 
It  gives  my  wicked  spirit  sport  to  view  that  dandy's  face. 
O !  happy  fate  !  this  rainy  day  my  week-day  dress  I 

wear, 
And  as  I  wend  my  careless  way,  for  storms  I  little  care. 

So  on  I  go,  nor  fear  the  rain,  though  thick  it  falls  and  fast, 
And  when  my  walk  is  o'er,  I  reach  a  cheerful  home  at 

last. 

And  as  before  a  well-filled  grate  I  sit  in  warm  array, 
I  must  relate,  for  very  sport,  the  horrors  of  this  day. 

Our  life  is  but  one  April  day  ;  now  sunlight  and  now 

showers  : 
Alternate  smiles  and  tears  are  shed  upon  our  swift-winged 

hours. 

Let  us  in  gratitude  receive  the  beams  that  gild  our  skies, 
And  though  their  splendor  be  withdrawn,  let  silent  praise 

arise. 


104 


POEMS. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  FELICIA  HEMANS. 

THE  radiant  star  is  set, 
E'en  in  the  golden  brightness  of  its  fame  ! 
No  cloud  to  dim  the  glory  of  its  name. 

Nor  can  the  heart  forget, 
How  sweetly  has  its  radiance  cheered  our  way, 
Shedding  o'er  earth  the  lustre  of  its  ray. 

Hushed  is  the  harp's  rich  note  : 
The  hand  that  once  awoke  the  soul-fraught  strain, 
Shall  never  sweep  its  broken  chords  again. 

The  dying  echoes  float, 
Like  twilight  music  o'er  the  summer's  sea, 
Soothing  the  soul  with  richest  melody. 

The  Christian's  race  is  o'er. 

From  grief  and  sorrow  free,  her  feet  have  pressed 
The  pathway  "  where  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

She  treads  the  blissful  shore, 
Where  joy  the  strain  of  holy  rapture  breathes, 
And  Love  its  never-fading  chaplet  wreathes. 

Yes,  though  the  monarch  death 
May  stamp  his  seal  upon  the  yielding  brow, 
And  bid  the  form  to  his  stern  sceptre  bow  ;  — 

And  though  the  fleeting  breath, 
At  his  behest,  the  restless  quivering  cease, 
While  the  immortal  spirit  finds  release  ;  — 


TO    THE    MEMORY   OF   FELICIA   HEMANS.  105 

In  the  bright  courts  above, 
Where  angel  harps  the  ceaseless  chorus  raise, 
The  heaven-tuned  song  shall  swell  her  notes  of  praise. 

Before  the  throne  of  love, 
Its  breathings  tuned  to  heaven's  own  melody, 
Her  spirit  swells  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

Minstrel !  whose  magic  sway 
Can  bid  the  secret  fountains  of  the  heart, 
The  gushing  meed  of  sympathy  impart ! 

Whose  spirit-stirring  lay 

Can  breathe  with  wizard  power  the  gracious  spell, 
Of  heavenly  hopes  and  holy  thoughts  to  tell ;  — 

To  thee  we  yield  our  praise. 
The  glorious  tribute  of  undying  fame 
Shall  cling  around  the  memory  of  thy  name  ; 

For  Genius  ne'er  decays  ; 
But  like  the  immortal  spirit,  high  and  free, 
A  deathless  glory  is  its  destiny. 

And  thus  thy  name  shall  dwell, 
A  hallowed  treasure,  purified  and  bright, 
To  shed  around  our  path  its  holy  light ; 

And  future  years  shall  tell 

With  what  deep  love  thy  cherished  name  we  keep, 
Thou !  locked  in  death's  unwakening,  icy  sleep  ! 

To  thy  last  resting-place, 

In  griefs  hushed  stillness  o'er  thy  sleep  to  bend, 
Shall  Genius  come,  with  Love  its  tears  to  blend. 

There,  too,  the  eye  may  trace 
10 


106  POEMS. 

Devotion's  sacred  form  and  heaven-raised  eye, 
Communing  with  the  soul  that  rests  on  high. 

Farewell !  again  farewell ! 
The  voice  we  loved  so  well  in  death  is  hushed, 
The  fountain's  last  sweet  flow  of  song  has  gushed : 

Yet  shall  thy  memory  dwell, 
Enshrined  within  the  hearts  that  fount  has  blessed, 
Till  we  shall  share  thy  blissful,  glorious  rest. 


EARLY   PIETY. 

WHEN  life  before  your  path  is  bright, 
And  fancy  sheds  its  golden  light, 
And  you  the  dawning  future  deem 
As  radiant  as  your  own  bright  dream, 
Ere  yet  its  after  path  be  trod, 
"  Remember  your  Creator,  God  ! " 

Forget  not  him  whose  ceaseless  flow 

Of  goodness  crowns  your  lot  below, 

Whose  hand  your  pathway  strews  with  flowers, 

And  o'er  your  head  his  mercies  showers. 

O  !  'mid  the  blessings  of  your  lot, 

Be  not  the  gracious  Source  forgot. 


EARLY   PIETY. 

What  though  the  light  of  joy  shall  fade  ? 
Let  not  your  spirit  be  dismayed. 
Let  sorrow's  gushing  tear  be  dry, 
Checked  be  the  murmur  and  the  sigh. 
Bow  in  submission  to  the  rod,  — 
"  Remember  your  Creator,  God  !  " 

To  Him  the  early  dawn  be  given, 
The  noon-tide  blaze,  the  dew  of  even  : 
Be  His  the  uttered  song  of  praise, 
And  His  the  silent  prayer  you  raise. 
In  life  or  death,  in  grief  or  joy, 
Let  Him  your  grateful  thoughts  employ. 

And  when  life's  golden  bowl  shall  break, 
The  harp's  sweet  chords  no  music  wake  ; 
When  hushed  the  quivering  breath  shall  be, 
And  darkness  makes  its  home  with  thee  ; 
When  here  no  more  your  form  we  trace, 
But  sigh  to  meet  your  vacant  place  ;  — 

Before  the  eternal  throne  above, 
The  sacred  fount  of  joy  and  love, 
Your  heart  shall  share  the  sweet  repose, 
Which  from  God's  sacred  presence  flows. 
His  smile  the  favor  shall  impart, 
Promised  but  to  the  "  pure  in  heart." 


107 


108  POEMS. 


FAME. 

"  For  the  most  loved  are  they, 
Of  whom  Fame  speaks  not,  with  her  clarion  voice,. 
In  regal  halls."  MRS.  HEMANS. 

IT  is  not  with  Fame's  "  clarion  voice," 

Within  the  palace  hall, 
That  we  would  wish  the  cherished  name 

Upon  the  ear  to  fall. 
Her  thrilling  notes  1  —  would  love  desire 

That  strain  their  worth  to  tell, 
Whose  names,  like  some  sweet  treasured  dream, 

Deep  in  our  memory  dwell  ? 

We  would  not  that  the  minstrel's  hand 

The  laurel  wreath  should  twine  : 
Purer  and  dearer  gifts  we  bring 

To  grace  affection's  shrine  : 
For  they,  the  tender  and  the  true^  < 

The  loved  of  other  days, 
Claim  from  the  hearts  their  friendship  blest, 

A  sweeter  meed  of  praise. 

The  cherished  hope,  the  fervent  prayer, 

While  here  their  footsteps  tread, 
And  when  life's  varied  strain  is  hushed, 

The  silent  tear  we  shed. 
Rich  meed  !     Yet  o'er  the  loved  and  blest, 

Whose  work  on  earth  is  done, 
No  tear  of  hopeless  grief  we  shed,  — 

Their  heavenly  crown  is  won. 


HYMN.  109 

Bright,  glorious,  is  the  gift  of  Fame  ; 

Yet  holier,  more  divine, 
Is  e'en  the  faintest  sigh,  in  which 

Their  memory  we  enshrine. 
Minstrel !  it  is  for  thee  to  pour 

The  trumpet  note  of  praise  ; 
But  love  the  cherished  name  shall  tell, 

In  gentler,  purer  lays. 


HYMN 

FOR   THE   CONSECRATION   OF   MOUNT   PLEASANT,  TAUNTON. 

AROUND  Thy  forest  shrine, 
Eternal  God !  we  bend, 
While  to  yon  dome  of  Thine, 

Faith's  breathing  tones  ascend, — 
To  spread  abroad,  From  nature's  fane, 

The  choral  strain  To  nature's  God. 

The  whispering  wind  around, 

The  glorious  sky  above, 
The  trees'  sweet  murmuring  sound,  — 

All,  all  proclaim  Thy  love. 
A  thrilling  voice,  Breathed  on  the  ear, 

Checks  every  fear,  Bids  man  rejoice. 

10* 


110  POEMS, 

Where  nature's  hues  of  bloom 

In  summer  beauty  reign, 
Shall  sadness,  doubt,  and  gloom, 

Breathe  here  their  mournful  strain  ? 
Let  songs  of  praise  To  God  be  given, 

And  high  to  Heaven  Joy's  chorus  raise. 

To  Faith,  to  Hope,  to  Love, 

This  spot  we  consecrate, 

While  raised  to  Thee  above, 

Our  hearts  Thy  blessing  wait. 
To  Thee  we  pray,  Our  Father,  God  f 

Through  him  who  trod       Death's  silent  way. 

Our  souls  shall  never  fear 

The  path  he  blest  to  tread  ; 
But  calmly  enter  here 

The  chambers  of  the  dead. 
Here  shall  we  sleep,  And  fear  no  ill, 

While  angels  still  Their  vigils  keep. 

To  thee  !  Great  King  of  kings ! 

When  life's  short  dream  is  o'er, 
On  Hope's  aspiring  wings, 
O  may  our  spirits  soar, 

And  swell  on  high  That  strain  to  Thee 

Whose  melody  Shall  never  die  ! 


THE    FIRST   TENANT    OF  MOUNT   PLEASANT.  Ill 


•  THE  FIRST  TENANT  OF   MOUNT  PLEASANT. 

"  There  was  a  garden,  and  in  the  garden  a  new  sepulchre, 
wherein  was  never  man  yet  laid." 

THE  first,  above  whose  garden-tomb 

Spring's  bright  and  perfumed  flowers  shall  bloom. 

Our  lips  a  parting  requiem  swell, 

Of  grief  too  deep  for  words  to  tell. 

Thou  in  thine  opening  bloom  art  gone  ; 

We  are  left  lingering  here  alone. 

Yet  more  :  the  first  to  whom  was  given 
To  lead  this  quiet  path  to  heaven. 
Thy  Saviour  shared  the  same  calm  rest, 
Thy  Lord  that  Eastern  garden  blest. 
By  faith  upheld,  sustained  by  prayer, 
Thou  couldst  not  shrink  his  lot  to  share. 

Nor  will  we  mourn,  as  those  who  find 
No  hope  to  cheer  the  sinking  mind. 
Thou  wast  too  pure  to  linger  here, 
Thy  spirit  sought  a  nobler  sphere,  — 
The  radiant  realms  beyond  the  sky, 
The  Christian's  glorious  rest  on  high. 

And  oft,  as  Nature's  bloom  we  greet, 
Round  thy  hushed  rest  our  steps  shall  meet. 
'Mid  matin  songs  and  vesper  dews, 
On  thy  sweet  memory  we  will  muse, 


112  POEMS. 

And  catch,  as  from  an  altar-shrine, 
New  springs  of  faith  and  hopes  divine. 

Rest  thee,  young  sleeper  !  take  thy  rest, 
Thou  early  freed  !  thou  richly  blest ! 
Such  tears  as  sainted  souls  might  shed, 
We  scatter  o'er  thy  hallowed  bed. 
Rest !  for  thy  task  on  earth  is  done, 
Rest !  for  thy  crown  in  heaven  is  won. 


THE  PROMISE  OF  JESUS. 

"  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  there 
am  I  in  the  midst  of  them." 

PROMISE,  'mid  earthly  anguish  given ! 

Blessing  'mid  earthly  wo  revealed  ! 
Hope,  which  the  spirit  rests  on  heaven ! 

Compact,  with  life's  devotion  sealed  ! 

All,  all  fulfilled  in  after  years, 

The  gracious  words  the  Saviour  gave. 

The  promise  still  the  spirit  cheers, 
The  blessing  yet  the  soul  may  save. 


THE   PROMISE   OF   JESITS.  113 

What  though  no  mortal  eye  may  gaze 

Upon  his  form,  as  low  we  bend  ? 
What  though  no  earthly  pomp  or  praise, 

His  bright,  triumphant  path  attend  ? 

The  blest  assurance  he  has  given, 

Faith  sees  the  gracious  words  fulfilled  : 

The  trusting  eye  is  raised  to  heaven, 
The  sigh,  the  doubt,  the  fear  is  stilled. 

Be  with  us,  thou,  whose  breast  was  warmed 

With  generous  pity  for  our  race. 
Will  not  thy  promise  be  performed  ? 

Upon  the  heart  thy  presence  trace. 

Be  with  us  in  the  untrodden  land ; 

Let  us  not  tread  its  gloom  alone  : 
Be  with  us,  when  the  soul  shall  stand, 

Fearful  before  its  Maker's  throne. 

There  shall  no  cloud  obstruct  the  sight, 
Nor  earth  shall  check  the  spirit's  prayer. 

The  eye  shall  see,  0!  vision  bright, 
Shall  see  the  blest  Redeemer  there. 


114  POEMS. 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

EXULTING  theme  !  what  strain  shall  swell, 
Our  hearts'  deep  gratitude  to  tell  ? 
How  can  our  feeble  voices  raise 
To  Heaven  a  fitting  song  of  praise  ? 

Though  to  our  fervent  prayer  were  given 
The  tuneful  voice,  the  song  of  heaven, 
The  choral  strain  that  swells  above 
Is  weak  to  hymn  that  work  of  love. 

"  Glory  to  God,  who  dwells  on  high !  " 
Who  spread  the  earth  and  arched  the  sky, 
Whose  power  prolongs  our  fleeting  breath, 
And  shields  us  from  the  grasp  of  death. 

"  And  peace  on  earth  !  "     The  gracious  boon 
Bids  man  his  harp  of  praise  attune. 
Our  tongues  would  join  the  minstrel  throng, 
And  swell  with  them  the  grateful  song. 

"  Good  will  to  man."     Our  spirits  soar 
Upward,  His  mercy  to  adore, 
Who,  to  redeem  our  sinful  race, 
Sent  forth  His  Messenger  of  grace. 

O  may  our  wandering  footsteps  press 
The  path  our  Saviour  died  to  bless  ; 
May  we  his  words  of  truth  receive, 
And  humbly  in  his  name  believe. 


FOR  THE  OPENING  OF  A  SUNDAY  SCHOOL.    115 

Thus  shall  our  spirits  share  the  home, 
Where  death,  nor  doubt,  nor  sorrow  come, 
And  bend  in  rapture  at  Thy  shrine, 
Eternal  Source  of  love  divine  ! 


FOR  THE  Or 


116  POEMS. 

Lord,  through  the  living  way, 
Wilt  Thou  conduct  this  blessed  band, 
Till  round  Thy  throne  their  feet  shall  stand, 

Where  springs  eternal  day  ? 

'i  and  silent  place, 

nee  lit  the  sparkling  eye, 
't  could  not  die, 
"5ss  trace. 

ir? 
->rness, 


THE   PEACE    OP   GOD.  117 


THE  PEACE   OF  GOD. 


"  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind  is  stayed  on 
Thee." 


ETERNAL  Father!  throned  above, 
Fountain  of  life,  and  light,  and  love  ! 
To  Thee  our  suppliant  voice  we  raise  ; 
To  Thee  we  turn  our  earnest  gaze. 

Our  hearts  shall  know  no  dark  dismay, 
Though  clouds  are  gathering  o'er  our  way ; 
And  though  the  angry  tempest  roar, 
Our  souls  Thy  wisdom  shall  adore. 

Silent,  submissive  still  to  Thee, 
Grant  us,  Eternal  One,  to  be  ; 
And  still  that  perfect  peace  impart, 
Thy  blessing  to  the  trusting  heart. 

And  when  life's  checkered  scene  is  past, 
Joy's  summer  smile,  grief's  wintry  blast, 
And  we  the  eternal  shore  shall  tread, 
By  Thee,  our  Father,  gently  led, — 

Still  in  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
Our  heart's  deep  trust  on  Thee  shall  rest ; 
And  there  the  perfect  peace  of  heaven, 
That  holy  heritage,  be  given. 
11 


118  POEMS. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OP  A  NEAR  AND  DEAR  FRIEND. 

"  Very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me."    Holy  Writ. 

I  LITTLE  thought,  when  last  we  met, 
How  soon  life's  brilliant  star  would  set ; 
How  soon  thy  eye's  unclouded  light 
Would  lose  its  beams  in  death's  dark  night. 
But,  ah !  that  meeting  was  our  last ; 
Our  sad  farewells  on  earth  are  past. 

I  saw  thee  last  when  health  beamed  high 

From  rosy  cheek  and  laughing  eye. 

Yet  once  again :  but  death  had  hushed 

The  harp  whence  love's  sweet  tones  had  gushed. 

That  altered  strain  !  — ah  !  who  can  tell 

The  blight  that  on  my  spirit  fell  ? 

Yes !  bright  and  blest  one  !  thou  hast  fled  ; 
The  moon  shines  o'er  thy  peaceful  head  ; 
Fled  like  a  dear  but  vanished  dream, 
The  meteor's  fitful,  flashing  gleam ; 
Fled  like  the  morning's  pearly  dew, 
Or  the  pure  floweret's  fading  hue. 

How  sweet,  when  o'er  my  stricken  soul 
The  blight  of  Time's  sad  changes  stole, 
On  thy  firm,  faithful  love  to  rest, 
My  solace  when  by  care  opprest ! 


TO   THE   MEMORY   OF   A   DEAR   FRIEND.  119 

How  sweet  into  thy  listening  ear 

To  pour  each  grief,  each  doubt,  each  fear ! 

And  ne'er  in  vain.     An  answering  sound 

In  thy  warm  heart  I  ever  found. 

Thou  with  my  faults  wouldst  kindly  bear, 

And  sweetly  every  trial  share  : 

Though  dark  my  soul,  as  clouds  of  night, 

Thy  smiles  would  make  my  pathway  bright. 

My  steps  may  join  the  busy  throng ; 
My  ear  may  list  the  thrilling  song ; 
In  every  scene  thy  form  I  view, 
The  kindly-hearted  and  the  true  ! 
Long  treasured  in  my  heart  shall  dwell 
The  memory  of  our  last  farewell. 

Our  last  farewell !     For,  O !  one  thought 
Is  with  my  inmost  spirit  wrought. 
That  breathing  tone,  —  it  has  for  me 
The  voice,  the  might  of  prophecy. 
One  gracious  boon  will  yet  be  given,  — 
To  meet,  to  live,  to  love  in  heaven. 

We  parted  in  the  house  of  prayer,  — 
God's  earthly  temple,  pure  and  fair. 
When  griefs  last  fount  of  tears  has  gushed, 
And  sorrow's  anguished  strain  is  hushed, 
Let  us  but  meet  around  that  shrine 
In  heaven,  —  eternal  and  divine. 


120  POEMS. 


WHAT  IS   THERE  SADDENING  IN  THE  AUTUMN 
LEAVES!" 


WHY,  when  the  falling  leaf 
Strews  with  its  glories  many  a  forest  glade, 
Why  should  our  secret  spirits  be  dismayed  ? 

Why  should  a  spell  of  grief 
Check  the  glad  gushing  of  joy's  fountain  stream, 
Or  shed  a  blight  o'er  hope's  rich,  radiant  dream  ? 

Look  on  the  gorgeous  sight : 
Thus  Nature  mocks  the  aspiring  touch  of  Art, 
Breathing  a  grace  no  limner  could  impart. 

See  the  rich  hues  of  light, 
Varied  and  beautiful,  around  us  shed, 
Telling  a  tale  of  hope,  though  life  be  fled. 

Of  faith  and  hope  they  tell, — 
A  hope  unchanging  to  the  spirit  given, 
A  lofty  faith  that  links  our  love  to  heaven. 

A  sweet  and  gentle  spell*. 

Breathed  in  love's  language,  checks  our  secret  fear,, 
And  whispers  gladness,  though  decay  be  near. 

Shall  not  Spring's  gentle  breath, 
The  fount  which  feeds  each  floweret's  rich  perfume* 
Waken  to  life  its  freshness  and  its  bloom  ? 

Beyond  the  vale  of  death, 

Eternal  Spring  breathes  through  the  scented  air, 
And  flowers,,  which  know  no  fading,  blossom  there-. 


COME  ITP   HITHER.  121 

Doth  not  man's  beauty  die  ? 
E'en  as  the  dying  flower,  the  fading  hue, 
As  bright  and  glorious,  as  transient  too  ? 

Doth  riot  the  weeping  eye, 
The  sorrowing  heart,  its  mournful  tribute  pay, 
When  life's  fair  blossoms  wither  and  decay  ? 

Yet,  as  Spring's  quickening  breath 
Yearly  the  forest's  foliage  renews, 
Life  through  our  souls  God's  Spirit  shall  infuse. 

Where  is  thy  power,  O  Death ! 
To  chain  the  souls,  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 
May  blissful  share  God's  own  eternity  ? 


"COME  UP  HITHER." 

COME  to  the  holy  feast, 

The  table  of  our  Lord. 
Ye  of  the  gathering  band  the  least, 

List  to  the  gracious  word. 
A  contrite  spirit  with  you  bring ; 
God  will  not  spurn  your  offering. 

Pour  ye  the  fervent  prayer, 
As  at  his  feet  ye  bend. 
Will  not  the  Saviour  meet  you  there  ? 
His  guiding  spirit  lend  ? 
11* 


122  POEMS. 

While,  with  affections  pure  and  meek, 
Ye  shall  the  promised  blessing  seek. 

Here  every  vain  desire 
May  love's  deep  fervor  quell : 
Here  may  devotion's  sacred  fire 
Each  heart  to  rapture  swell. 
Grant  that  each  bending  form  may  be 
A  shrine,  Eternal  One  !  for  thee. 

Here  may  each  heart  be  given, 
While  prayer  and  praise  arise, 
To  God,  to  Jesus,  and  to  heaven,  — 

A  living  sacrifice. 
And  as  our  souls  in  homage  kneel, 
Let  each  his  covenant  vows  reseal. 

To  own  his  honored  name, 
The  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way, 
Who  to  redeem  our  spirits  came, 

And  lead  to  cloudless  day ;  — 
Here  in  this  simple,  holy  rite, 
His  last  request,  our  hearts  unite. 

O !  may  the  path  he  trod 
Be  by  our  footsteps  pressed ; 
His  Father  ours,  and  ours  his  God, 

Our  hope  his  heavenly  rest. 
Them  who  on  earth  his  name  confess, 
He  waits  in  heaven  to  crown  and  bless. 


THE    SUMMONS    OF    DEATH.  123 


THE  SUMMONS  OF  DEATH. 

INFANT,  on  whose  snowy  brow 
All  is  pure  and  stainless  now, 
In  whose  heart  the  fount  of  love 
Hath  its  spring  in  heaven  above, 
Earth  is  no  meet  home  for  thee ; 
Thou  its  threatening  ills  shouldst  flee. 
Haste,  haste  away ! 

Child,  thy  path  is  bright  with  flowers ; 

Joyous  are  thy  sunny  hours  ; 

Thou  must  leave  thy  mirth  and  play, 

For  a  purer,  brighter  day  : 

I  have  called,  and  thou  must  roam 

Far  from  kindred,  friends,  and  home. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Maiden,  with  thy  step  so  light, 

And  thy  brow  so  calm  and  bright, 

Thou  earth's  sunny  bowers  must  leave,  — 

Fate  a  darker  web  must  weave ; 

Thou  my  gathering  ranks  must  swell,  — 

Thou  my  triumph  hour  must  tell. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Beauty,  peerless  in  thy  grace, 
Smiles  are  wreathing  now  thy  face  : 
Dost  thou  not  existence  deem 
Lovely  as  thine  own  bright  dream  ? 


124  EOEMS, 

Thou  must  leave  earth's  pomp  and  state  ; 
I  have  marked  thy  future  fate. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Bride,  thy  plighted  faith  is  given ; 
Now  thy  vow  is  heard  in  heaven. 
Who  may  hear  the  tones  which  swell 
Deep  within  thy  fond  heart's  cell  ? 
Vain  thy  secret  wishes  all  ^ 
Thou  must  haste  thee  at  my  call. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Soldier,  on  the  battle  plain. 
Thou  must  find  thy  courage  vain* 
Canst  thou  bear  thee  undismayed, 
When  my  touch  is  on  thee  laid  ? 
Soldier,  on  the  battle  field 
Leave  the  helmet  and  the  shield.. 

Haste,  haste  away! 

Sailor,  'mid  the  pathless  sea 
Shall  thy  quiet  slumbers  be  ; 
Far  within  the  watery  deep 
Shall  the  mermaid  o'er  thee  weep ; 
Friend  nor  kindred  o'er  thy  bier 
E'er  shall  shed  the  sorrowing  tear. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Widow,  in  whose  sorrowing  heart 
Joy  hath  not  its  wonted  part, 
Fear  thou  not  my  sad  array ; 
He,  thy  loved,  has  trod  the  way ; 


THE    SUMMONS    OF   DEATH.  125 

And  where  comes  no  grief  nor  care, 
He  in  bliss  shall  meet  thee  there. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Mother,  let  the  tear  be  dried, 
Shed  o'er  him,  thy  spirit's  pride. 
Shall  a  mother's  love  be  vain  £ 
Thou  shalt  see  thine  own  again ; 
Ye  shall  meet  on  that  blest  shore, 
Where  earth's  partings  are  no  more. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Weary  one,  thy  weeping  cease  ; 
I  will  bring  a  sweet  release. 
Earth  has  mocked  with  visions  bright : 
Gaze  on  heaven's  fadeless  light. 
Let  thy  aching  heart  be  stilled ; 
Brighter  hopes  shall  be  fulfilled. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Christian,  fear  not  thou  to  die  ; 
Now  thy  glorious  goal  is  nigh. 
Strike  the  golden  harp  of  joy  ; 
Well  may  praise  its  notes  employ. 
Now  thy  trial  course  is  done, 
Now  thy  crown  of  life  is  won. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 

Mortals,  I  have  raised  my  band, 
Pilgrims  to  a  stranger  land. 
God  hath  my  commission  given, 
You,  His  loved,  to  lead  to  heaven. 


126  POEMS. 

Earth  has  ne'er  the  spirit  blest ; 
That  'mid  heavenly  joys  should  rest. 

Haste,  haste  away ! 


VICTORIA  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

SUGGESTED  BY  SULLY's  CELEBRATED  PORTRAIT. 

SHE  sits  on  her  ancestral  seat,  a  crowned  and  jeweled 

queen, — 
She  of  the  young,  unclouded  brow,  of  mild  and  gracious 

mien; 
While  prelate,  prince,  and  courtier  bow  at  her  imperial 

throne, 
Their  loyal  fealty  to  pay,  her  regal  right  to  own.. 

A  gorgeous  sight ;  for  gathered  there,  a  proud  and 
princely  band, 

Are  ranged  the  wise,  the  beautiful,  the  mighty  of  the 
land  ; 

While  wisdom,  might,  and  beauty  bend  before  their 
sovereign's  feet, 

To  yield  that  homage  of  the  heart,  for  youth  and  good- 
ness meek 


VICTORIA  AT   WESTMINSTER.  127 

Not  on  the  shrine  of  rank  alone  their  loyal  gift  they  pay ; 

Affection  tunes  the  minstrel's  harp,  and  fires  the  poet's 
lay; 

It  melts  the  gathering  ice  of  age,  bids  youth's  glad  foun- 
tains flow, 

And  lights  a  transient  flash  of  joy  within  the  breast  of  wo. 

Well  may  that  face  all  hearts  enthral,  thou  beautiful  and 

bright ; 
For  Love  sits  throned  within  that  eye  of  heaven's  own 

azure  light. 

That  gently  parted  lip  declares  the  joyousness  of  youth, 
Rich  in  its  morning  dream  of  bliss,  and  radiant  with  truth. 

Still  be  in  after  years  as  pure  the  glance  of  memory 
As  now  unto  thine  ardent  gaze  hope's  visions  seems  to  be  ; 
Still  brightly  set  the  star  of  life,  as  erst  its  splendors  rose, 
And  fair  as  morning's  dawning  light  be  eventide's  sweet 
close. 

Full  many  a  pang  thy  heart  must  know,  thou  favored  and 

most  blest, 

And  thou  wilt  sigh  in  loneliness  for  one  sweet  hour  of  rest. 
O !  then  in  that  most  hallowed  hour  be  brighter  visions 

given 
Than  earth  can  e'er  afford,  —  the  pure  and  priceless 

hopes  of  heaven. 

'Mid  song,  and  dance,  and  revelry,  thy  woman's  heart 

will  yearn 
For  one  sweet  fountain-stream  of  love,  whither  thy  steps 

may  turn ; 


128  POEMS. 

And  thou  wilt  sigh  within  thy  breast,  to  wear  the  crystal 

gem, 
More  precious  far  than  ever  shone  in  monarch's  diadem. 

A  jeweled  crown  is  on  thy  brow,  a  princely  court  is  thine, 
And  many  a  glad  and  gushing  heart  bends  willing  at  thy 

shrine. 

Be  it,  amid  an  angel's  court,  to  thy  rapt  spirit  given, 
To  wear  the  Christian's  coronet,  the  star-gemmed  crown 

of  heaven. 


FAREWELL  TO   MY   HOME. 

I  LINGER  on  the  threshold  yet ; 

I  cannot  breathe  the  farewell  tone. 
A  spell  of  sad,  though  sweet  regret, 

Is  o'er  this  parting  moment  thrown. 
Home  !  home  !  thou  dearest  spot  of  all 

Earth's  weary  wanderers  love  so  well, 
As  I  thy  vanished  hours  recall, 

What  varied  thoughts  within  me  swell ! 

Here  first  in  joy  my  footsteps  pressed 

A  spot  I  fondly  called  my  own. 
Here  friendship's  tones  my  heart  have  blessed, 

Nor  hate  its  seeds  of  discord  sown. 


FAREWELL   TO   MY   HOME.  129 

Here  could  my  weary  frame  repose, 

When  faint  with  toil,  or  worn  with  care  ; 

Here,  when  life's  quivering  breath  should  close, 
I  hoped  to  breathe  my  parting  prayer. 

Here  hare  joy's  gushing  tones  been  heard  ; 

Here  sorrow's  brooding  wing  been  spread : 
Here  the  deep  fount  of  gladness  stirred ; 

And  here  griefs  silent  tear-drop  shed. 
Here  to  affection's  treasured  store, 

Were  gems  of  priceless  value  given, 
As  stars,  to  shine  my  pathway  o'er, 

And  light  the  pilgrim's  course  to  heaven. 

Here  have  I  stood  with  sorrowing  eye, 

To  watch  life's  embers  die  away ; 
While  faith  could  lift  her  glance  on  high, 

And  gaze  on  heaven's  all-perfect  day. 
Here  have  I  stood  beside  the  shrine, 

Where  love  lights  up  his  holiest  beam  ; 
Where  heart,  and  hand,  and  voice  combine, 

To  shadow  forth  a  glorious  dream. 

Yet  as  I  linger  round  the  past, 

And  sigh  to  break  the  golden  chain, 
My  glance  is  on  the  future  cast, 

And  Hope  breathes  forth  her  sweeter  strain. 
What  though  my  feet  no  longer  roam 

Where  love  the  varied  scenes  can  trace  ? 
What  though  my  fondly  cherished  home 

Is  now  the  stranger's  resting-place  ? 

12 


130  POEMS. 

The  heart  unchanged  —  love's  quenchless  smile  ; 

Truth's  holy  spell  —  hope's  fadeless  glow, 
A  desert's  gloom  could  well  beguile, 

And  bid  joy's  sacred  fountains  flow. 
Change  cannot  blight  their  radiant  bloom, 

There  time  his  influence  may  not  send, 
But  sorrow's  tear,  —  affliction's  gloom, 

To  joy  a  holier  light  shall  lend. 


LADIES7  FAIR. 

O  !  HASTE  ye  away  ;   't  is  the  morn  of  the  Fair  ; 
And  the  lovely  and  happy  are  gathering  there. 
Ye  would  not  be  late  on  this  festival  day  ; 
Then  haste  to  love's  temple,  love's  incense  to  pay. 

It  is  well  worth  the  visit  to  see  the  gay  sight, 
The  ladies  so  smiling,  the  beaux  so  polite. 
What  cynical  stoic  a  smile  will  deny, 
Or  coldly  so  brilliant  a  bevy  pass  by  ? 

You  will  find  all  that  fancy  or  art  can  devise, — 
For  your  ears  silver  voices,  your  heart  witching  eyes. 
You  surely  will  join  the  gay  crowd  hastening  there, 
Ah,  yes,  you  must  visit  this  wonder,  the  Fair. 


LADIES'  FAIR.  131 

There  hearts  of  all  sizes  the  eye  may  behold, 
Unlike  each  fair  prototype,  purchased  with  gold. 
And  chains,  too,  to  weave  round  the  bachelor's  heart, 
Which  perchance  may  be  captured  by  love's  magic  art. 

And  there  waits  the  Sybil,  your  fate  to  reveal : 
Then  come  at  her  mystical  altar  to  kneel ; 
A  glance  of  her  eye  can  the  future  explore ; 
Your  pittance  of  silver,  — •  she  asks  for  no  more. 

A  line  for  sweet  Belle  in  the  post-office  lies  : 
Ah !  the  secret  I  read  by  the  light  of  your  eyes. 
But  still  of  your  blush  no  advantage  I  take, 
So  in  secret  and  quiet  the  seal  you  may  break. 

Then  hasten  away.     You  will  never  regret, 
That  to-day  in  love's  temple  her  children  have  met ; 
But  the  eye  of  Remembrance  with  rapture  shall  glow, 
And  the  heart's  purest  fountains  of  pleasure  shall  flow. 


132  POEMS. 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  A  NEAR   RELATIVE, 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled  ....  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,  for  they  shall  see  God."  Holy  Writ. 

BLISSFUL  and  glorious  meed  I 
What  to  the  sorrowing  spirit  could  be  given, 
Breathing  so  much  of  hope,  of  joy,,  of  heaven  ? 

Blessed  are  they,  indeed, 

Who,  from  the  shrouding  veil  of  earth  set  free, 
Can  face  to  face  their  Heavenly  Father  see. 

Being  of  perfect  love  I 

Who,  though  Thy  hand  griefs  deepest  fount  may  stir. 
Dost  in  Thy  darkest  counsels  never  err, 

Up  to  Thy  throne  above, 

Our  stricken  souls  their  weight  of  anguish  send, 
Our  Rock  of  strength,  our  never-failing  Friend  \ 

Yet  with  a  quenchless  trust, 
That  once  again  love's  fount  shall  be  unsealed, 
To  Thee  this  treasure  of  our  hearts  we  yield. 

Most  merciful  and  just ! 
Let  not  our  confidence  of  hope  be  vain,  — 
Shall  we  not  meet  where  peace  and  rapture  reign  ? 

Never  again  below, 

Where  once  in  love  our  hearts  were  wont  to  meet* 
Shall  that  closed  eye  our  gazing  vision  greet. 

Yet  where,  all  ceaseless,  flow 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  NEAR  RELATIVE.      133 

The  waters  of  love's  own  immortal  stream, 
Full  on  our  souls,  once  more,  its  light  shall  beam. 

Brother  and  friend !  farewell ! 
Not  for  thy  rapture  shed  we  griefs  sad  tear. 
No,  we  would  keep  thine  image  still  so  dear, 

As  a  sweet  hallowed  spell,  — 
An  added  link  to  that  bright  chain  of  love, 
Which  binds  us  to  our  better  home  above. 

Meet  was  it  that  the  hues 

Of  summer's  lingering  flowers  should  light  thy  way, 
To  those,  blest  bowers  whose  hues  know  no  decay. 

Watered  by  heaven's  own  dews, 
Thy  Father's  smile  lights  up  the  radiant  bloom, 
Which  sheds  o'er  those  bright  realms  its  rich  perfume. 

Rest  in  thy  purity ! 

As  the  lost  fragrance  of  the  summer  flower 
Shall  steal  across  our  souls,  at  twilight's  hour, 

Thy  cherished  memory. 
We  will  not  grieve  that  thou  hast  earliest  trod 
The  path  which  leads  thee  to  thy  Father,  God. 

No !  rather  let  the  love 
That  once  shed  sunlight  o'er  our  earthly  way 
Point  us  to  thy  bright  rest,  heaven's  "  perfect  day." 

In  that  sweet  home  above, 
The  only  heritage  which  cannot  fail, 
Let  us  but  meet,  —  beyond  death's  silent  vale. 

12* 


134  POEMS. 


SUNDAY  SCHOOL  FESTIVAL,  1839. 

MOST  High  !  most  Mighty  !  and  most  Great ! 

We  bend  around  Thy  throne, 
Thy  guardian  care  to  supplicate, 

Thy  guardian  love  to  own. 

We  come  with  feeble,  faltering  feet : 
Be  Thou,  O  God  !  our  strength  ; 

And  to  Thy  holier  mercy  seat, 
Conduct  our  steps  at  length. 

Bid  the  rich  dews  of  grace  divine 

Descend  on  each  young  head  ; 
And  o'er  each  heart,  Thy  chosen  shrine, 

Their  gracious  influence  shed. 

For  her,  we  drop  love's  silent  tear,  — < 

So  late  the  bright  and  fair ! 
May  she  not,  though  unseen,  be  near, 

Unheard,  to  join  our  prayer  ? 

And  when  no  more  our  wandering  feet 
Shall  tread  time's  wave-washed  shore, 

O  !  may  Thy  parted  children  meet 
Where  love  shall  weep  no  more. 


SORROW  NOT  AS  THOSE  WITHOUT  HOPE.     135 


"  SORROW  NOT  AS  THOSE  WITHOUT  HOPE." 

WHEN  called  around  the  bed  of  death, 
To  catch  the  last  expiring  breath  ; 
When  breathed  upon  the  listening  ear, 
The  tone  that  calls  it  hence  we  hear ; 
We  bow  reluctant  to  the  rod, 
And,  sorrowing,  yield  the  soul  to  God. 

For  as  the  radiant  hues  of  heaven 
Glow  brightest  at  the  hour  of  even  ; 
As  music  sheds  a  holier  lay, 
When  soft  its  numbers  die  away  ; 
So  love's  undying  splendors  beam, 
Reflected  in  life's  parting  stream. 

But  as  we  bend  around  the  bed, 

Where  life's  young  pilgrims  bow  the  head, 

Can  we  not  hear  the  Master's  tone, 

Breathed  to  his  followers  alone, 

"  Sorrow  ye  not  as  those  who  see 

No  star  of  hope  their  guide  to  be." 

Mourn  ye  not  those  whose  steps  have  trod 
The  mansions  of  their  Father,  God. 
Though  life  was  one  bright  summer's  day, 
Fearless  they  trod  death's  narrow  way. 
It  led  them  through  decay  and  gloom, 
To  bowers  where  fadeless  glories  bloom. 


136  POEMS. 

No  tear  of  grief  shall  dim  their  eye  ; 
Their  anguished  heart  shall  heave  no  sigh 
Sin  shall  not  check  their  grateful  prayer ; 
Nor  error  cloud  the  day -beam  there  : 
But  joy's  rich  fountain-stream  shall  flow, 
And  love's  sweet  ray  unclouded  glow. 

Then  let  the  eye  no  longer  weep ; 
God  shall  those  vanished  treasures  keep, 
To  dwell,  as  gems  of  life  and  light, 
For  aye  within  His  watchful  sight. 
There  shall  we  meet,  life's  trials  o'er, 
Our  loved,  our  lost,  to  part  no  more. 


THE  CONTRAST. 

"  Lovely  and  pleasant  were  they  in  their  lives,  and  in  their  deatl 
not  divided."  Holy  Writ. 

A  YOUNG  and  cherished  bride,  she  went  her  future  home 

to  seek, 
While  glowed  the  living  tints  of  health  upon  her  kindling 

cheek. 
The  fount  of  love  was  in  her  heart,  and  in  her  eye  iis 

light; 
Nor  dark  disease  around  her  path  had  cast  its  withering 

blight. 


THE    CONTRAST.  137 

The  future  to  her  vision  seemed  one  fair  and  golden 

dream, 
And  Hope,  the  priestess  at  love's  shrine,  had  shed  her 

radiant  beam  ; 
Breathed  from  the  lip  of  changeless  truth  the  precious 

vow  was  given, 
Which  bound  in  one  those  mingling  hearts,  which  death's 

cold  touch  has  riven. 

Now  side  by  side  with  one  most  dear  her  quiet  ashes 

sleep, 
While  angel  spirits  round  their  rest  their  gentle  vigils 

keep. 

"  Lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  in  death  divided  not," 
Each  rests  upon  her  lowly  couch,  silent,  but  not  forgot. 

Thou  earlier  called  to  bliss  and  heaven,  most  gentle  and 

most  blest, 

Thy  memory  in  unfading  lines  is  on  my  heart  impressed. 
E'en  now  when  on  thy  love  I  muse,  I  shed  the  frequent 

tear, 
Though  years  have  passed  since  last  I  saw  thy  living 

image  here. 

My  heart  is  sometimes  weary,  and  I  fain  would  flee  away 
In  sweet  communion  with  thy  soul  to  share  heaven's 

"perfect  day;" 
Yet  would  I  wait  my  appointed  time  until  my  change 

shall  come, 
And  thou  my  angel  guide  may'st  be,  to  lead  my  spirit 

home, 


138  POEMS. 

Rest  ye !  sweet  sisters  !  earth  had  not  one  joy  to  equal 

heaven. 
The  seal  of  Christian  fellowship  to  each  young  heart  was 

given. 

The  kindred  souls  111  life  so  dear,  could  not  long  parted  be  : 
They  soared  to  swell  in  courts  above  the  anthem  of  the 

free. 


UPON  WHOM  DOTH  NOT  HIS  LIGHT  ARISE 

Is  there  a  secret,  hidden  place, 

How  lone  soever  it  may  be, 
In  which  Faith's  vision  may  not  trace 

The  light  of  God's  divinity  ? 

Thou  poor  afflicted  one  !  whose  eye, 
Dim  with  the  frequent-falling  tear, 

Can  see  no  friendly  beacon  nigh, 

Thy  spirit's  struggling  grief  to  cheer,  — 

Lift  up  thine  eye  !  a  splendor  streams 
All  glorious  from  God's  throne  of  light. 

Full  on  the  trusting  eye  it  beams, 

And  turns  to  day  griefs  darkest  night. 

Thou  weary  one !  who  fain  wouldst  lay 
The  burden  of  thy  labors  down, 


UPON   WHOM   DOTH   NOT  HIS   LIGHT  ARISE  ?        139 

To  share  the  only  cloudless  day, 
And  win  the  only  fadeless  crown,  — 

Not  to  the  dreams  of  dark  despair, 

Be  all  thy  weary  moments  given : 
Breathe  forth  thy  soul  in  grateful  prayer, 

And  patient  wait  the  light  from  heaven. 

Darkness  and  clouds  are  o'er  the  way, 
That  leads  us  to  our  heavenly  rest ; 

But  faith  can  view  the  beaming  ray, 
That  gilds  the  regions  of  the  blest. 

Turn  to  that  rest  thy  tearful  eye, 

And  God's  own  hand  thy  steps  shall  guide, 

Till  thou  shalt  see  his  mansions  nigh, 
And  stand  his  glorious  throne  beside. 


140  POEMS. 


INVOCATION. 

FATHER  !  enthroned  above, 

Thou  Source  of  life  and  love  ! 
On  Thine  Eternal  Name  my  voice  would  call. 

Hear  me  as  thus  I  pray, 

And  let  a  heavenly  ray, 
Gently  as  night  dews,  on  my  spirit  fall. 

While  suppliant  thus  I  kneel, 

Let  me  Thy  presence  feel, 
In  the  bright  noontide  as  the  evening  shade ; 

When  in  the  hour  of  prayer, 

I  bring  to  Thee  my  care^ 
May  my  heart's  confidence  on  thee  be  stayed. 

Spare  Thou  the  loved  and  dear, 

Life's  trial  way  to  cheer  : 
Long  may  their  faithful,  changeless  love  be  given  ; 

And,  'mid  my  lonely  grief, 

Grant  me  the  sweet  relief, 
The  trust  to  meet  those  cherished  ones  in  heaven. 

And  to  my  fainting  heart 

Wilt  thou  Thine  aid  impart  ? 
In  weakness,  Mighty  One  !  I  bend  to  Thee. 

When  the  fierce  storm  is  nigh, 

And  raised  to  Thee  my  eye, 
Wilt  Thou  my  strength  in  earthly  weakness  be  ? 


TO   THE   MEMORY   OF   EBENEZER   BAILEY,   ESQ.       141 

When  the  dark  hour  has  passed, 

Of  earthly  wo  the  last, 
And  the  soul  quits  its  prison-house  of  clay, — 

Thou  !  to  whom  Death  must  bow,  j 

Great  King  of  kings  !  wilt  Thou 
Receive  my  spirit  to  eternal  day  ? 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EBENEZER  BAI- 
LEY, ESQ..  LATE  PRINCIPAL  OF  THE  YOUNG 
LADIES'  HIGH  SCHOOL,  BOSTON. 

WHEN  from  our  side  the  good  are  snatched  away, 
Like  morning  flowers  that  fade  at  close  of  day, 
How  yearns  the  heart,  though  prostrate  in  its  wo, 
Affection's  last  fond  tribute  to  bestow  ! 
For  precious  then  the  faintest  sigh  will  be, 
Breathed  to  the  good  man's  hallowed  memory. 
But  when  the  thoughts  of  childhood's  budding  years, 
Its  blending  light  and  shade,  its  hopes,  its  fears, 
Around  the  heart  their  silent  influence  shed, 
And  mingle  with  our  sorrow  for  the  dead, 
Though  Love  may  rear  the  altar,  pure,  divine, 
Yet  gratitude  bends  willing  at  the  shrine. 

Thus  hath  it  been  with  thee,  thou  friend  revered  ! 
Whose  genial  aid  my  days  of  childhood  cheered. 
13 


142  POEMS. 

Oft  have  I  turned  me,  'mid  earth's  deep  unrest, 
To  those  sweet  hours,  my  brightest  and  most  blest. 
Thou,  in  the  days  when  fortune  smiled  on  thee, 
Wast  a  warm  friend,  untiring,  true  to  me  ; 
Nor  ever  hath  thy  watchful  interest  ceased, 
Till  death  thy  noble,  godlike  soul  released. 
My  heart's  deep  debt  of  gratitude  shall  be 
A  lasting  pillar  to  thy  memory. 

Friend  of  my  youth  !  though  feeble  is  the  meed 
I  pay  the  princely  heart,  the  generous  deed, 
Though  strains  more  proud  and  eloquent  than  mine 
The  memory  of  thy  virtues  shall  enshrine, 
Yet  none  the  voice  of  truer  grief  shall  raise, 
Or  to  thy  goodness  yield  more  heartfelt  praise. 

Not  I  alone  deplore  thy  hapless  fate, 
Thou  good  and  gifted,  generous  and  great ! 
She,  that  sad  mourner  o'er  thy  silent  bier, 
Shedding  in  speechless  grief  the  frequent  tear ; 
And  they,  whose  names  dwelt  latest  on  thy  tongue, 
O'er  whom  a  father's  shield  of  love  was  flung, 
Their  depth  of  wo  His  might  alone  can  scan, 
Whose  eye  beams  love,  whose  voice  "  speaks  peace  "  to 
man. 

Eternal  One  !  God  of  the  fatherless  ! 
Whose  grace  the  widow's  anguished  heart  can  bless  ! 
Bend  from  Thy  throne  of  radiant  light  above, 
And  be  Thy  banner  o'er  those  sad  ones,  love. 
Rest  her  lone  heart  beneath  Thy  sheltering  wing, 
And  to  thy  fold  those  lambs  in  safety  bring. 


LAZARUS.  143 

Rest  thee  in  peace !  them  tried  and  trusted  friend ! 
Shall  we  in  hopeless  grief  around  thee  bend  ? 
Oft  have  thy  smiles  the  sorrowing  heart  made  glad, 
Thy  presence  cheered  the  doubting  and  the  sad. 
In  many  a  heart  thy  monument  is  reared, 
Whose  silent  thoughts  record  thy  name  revered. 
Each  princely  deed,  though  done  in  secrecy, 
Shall  rise  to  Heaven  and  thy  memorial  be. 
Thy  soul  shall  enter  its  immortal  rest,  — 
Home  of  the  weary,  guerdon  of  the  blest. 


LAZARUS. 

He  sleeps. 

Is  there  no  voice  to  rouse  the  silent  dust, 
And  bid  the  springs  of  life  flow  gently  on  ? 
Will  not  a  sister's  pleading  break  that  rest  ? 
No,  for  the  stern,  relentless  hand  of  death 
Has  stamped  his  impress  on  the  placid  brow. 
The  heart  is  cold  whose  warm  affection  blessed 
The  helpless  ones  who  lived  in  him  alone, 
To  whom  he  was  their  all. 

But  there  is  One 

Whose  glance  is  mercy,  and  whose  voice  is  might ; 
Yea,  who  can  render  to  the  mourner  back 
The  tender  object  that  has  shared  his  love. 


144  POEMS,. 

He  loved  that  sleeping  one  ;  his  memory- 
Was  hallowed  in  his  heart  by  many  a  deed 
Of  kindness  to  himself,  and,  at  the  call 
Of  those  who  looked  to  him  with  a  pure  faith, 
He  came  to  yield  him  to  their  love  again. 

Martha  came  forth  to  meet  him ;  but  that  one 

Who  oft  had  knelt,  with  warm  devotion  fired*. 

And  listened  to  the  heaven-inspiring  sounds 

Which  issued  from  his  lips,  remained  behind,. 

In  the  sad  solitude  of  grief  and  wo. 

At  her  afflicted  sister's  call  she  came. 

List  to  their  words  :   "  We  know  if  thou  but  speak, 

Life  shall  once  more  those  pulses  animate." 

"  Where  have  ye  laid  him  ?  "  said  that  gentle  voieet 

Which  never  spake,  except  to  cheer  the  heart 

With  words  of  blessed  import. 

Jesus  wept.. 

But  soon  before  that  fast-sealed  grave  he  stood, 
And  on  those  weeping  sisters  turned  his  eye  ;  — 
"  Said  I  not  unto  you  that  ye  should  see 
The  glory  of  your  God  ?     Believe  on  me. 
I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. 
He  who  believes  on  me  shall  never  die.'* 
Then  tathe  throne  of  light  his  eye  was  raised, — 
"  Father !  I  thank  Thee  that  my  voice  is  heard." 

That  pleading  voice  was  heard,  and  then,  in  tones. 
Which  thrilled  through  every  vein  of  that  vast  crowd, 
He  spake  the  words,  "  O  Lazarus  !  come  forth  ! " 
Scarce  were  the  breathing  accents  heard,  when  he, 
So  lately  locked  in  the  embrace  of  death, 
Came  forth,  exulting  in  the  tide  of  life 


LAZARUS.  145 

That  fed  his  veins  and  warmed  his  conscious  heart. 
While  he  who  wrought  this  gracious  miracle, 
Went  forth  upon  his  silent,  lonely  way, 
Not  to  the  regal  glories  of  a  throne, 
But  unto  scorn,  and  treachery,  and  death. 

Swell !  swell  to  heaven  the  anthem's  hallowed  note, 
And  bend  the  soul  in  fervent  gratitude. 
Though  the  damp  grave  contained  his  sacred  form, 
It  could  not  hold  him  in  its  chill  embrace  ; 
For  he,  too,  broke  its  chains,  and,  at  the  call 
Of  HIM  who  gave  him  power  to  raise  the  dead, 
He  spurned  the  fetters  that  would  keep  him  there, 
And  soared  to  heaven,  and  taught  his  followers  too, 
That,  as  he  burst  the  grave,  so  shall  they  rise, 
And  in  the  realms  of  everlasting  joy, 
Live  through  a  vast  eternity. 


146  POEMS. 


"  WHAT  WITHERS  ON  THE  EARTH,  BLOOMS  AGAIN 
IN   HEAVEN." 

THOSE  blessed  hopes,  most  fair  and  bright, 
Now  merged  in  disappointment's  night, 
Shall  wear  a  new  and  holier  light, 
And  shine  more  pure  in  heaven. 

The  smiles  that  cheered  life's  golden  hours, 
~And  shed  their  light  o'er  love's  sweet  bowers, 
Though  vanished  now  like  summer  flowers, 
Shall  beam  more  bright  in  heaven. 

The  hearts  whereon  our  own  could  rest, 
In  grief  less  sad,  in  joy  more  blessed, 
Though  cold  is  now  each  faithful  breast, 
Shall  love  again  in  heaven. 

The  flowers  that  rich  with  dewy  bloom, 
Sent  forth  at  morn  a  sweet  perfume, 
Though  sunset  lingers  round  their  tomb, 
Shall  bloom  again  in  heaven. 

No  clouds  in  those  fair  skies  are  seen,. 
But  suns  are  bright  and  gales  serene, 
While  living  founts  and  pastures  green,. 
Eternal,  spring  in  heaven. 

Then  breathe  no  more  the  strain  of  wo, 
•  Nor  longer  let  grief's  teardrop  flow, 
For  each  sweet  flower  that  droops  below, 
Shall  fadeless  bloom  in  heaven* 


FINDEN'S  TABLEAUX.  147 

FINDEN'S  TABLEAUX,    1837. 
TO   A   FRIEND. 

WHERE  could  the  heart  that  asked  a  gjft  on  love's  sweet 

shrine  to  place, 

Seek  for  a  lovelier  gem  than  this,  the  offering  to  grace? 
Genius  its  mighty  voice  has  raised,  a  fitting  lay  to  swell, 
And  Art  pours  forth  its  richest  gems  from  out  its  treasure 

cell. 

Here  meet  a  mingling  multitude  from  many  a  distant 

strand  j 

The  gifted  and  the  beautiful,  the  mighty  of  the  land. 
And  as  a  shadow,  blending  with  joy's  rich  and  glorious 

ray, 
The   lowly  and   the  sorrowful  tread  here  their  weary 

way, 

We  gaze  on  Georgia's  meek-eyed  slave,  the  Houri  of 

the  East, 
Whose  lofty  brow  and  noble  mien  might  grace  a  royal 

feast ; 
And  here,  with  jeweled   rosary,  and   eye   upraised   in 

prayer, 
Sweet  Florence  waits  on  bended  knee,  her  cloistered 

home  to  share. 

She,  Persia's  proud  Sultana,  mourns  her  sad  though  bril- 
liant fate, 

And  yearns  to  tread  that  blessed  home,  by  her  mad© 
desolate ; 


148  POEMS. 

And  here  Spain's  haughty  daughter  stands,  the  fair  but 

false  coquette, 
Breathing,  in  bitterness  of  soul,  her  deep  but  vain  regret. 

Beneath  the  sunny  skies  of  France,  and  mid  her  laugh- 
ing bowers, 

Fair  Marguerite  her  crown  receives,  a  wreath  of  thorn* 
less  flowers. 

Not  for  her  rank  or  grace,  they  twine  the  rose-leaf  o'er 
her  brow, 

But  hearts  in  willing  homage  here,  before  La  Rosiere 
bow.. 


Thou  jewel  of  a  fathers  love,  the  treasure  of  his  heart ! 
Meekly,  in  filial  tenderness,  thy  soul  hath  borne  its  part. 
A  tongue   more  gifted  far  than  mine   should  sing  the 

virtuous  deed, 
And  strains  more  eloquent  should  rise  to  be  thy  fitting 

meed. 

Thou,  who  hast  been  the  cherished  gem  of  his  parental 

pride, 
A  mother  to  those  lambs,  to  whom  that  blessing  was 

denied  ; 
Thine  earthly  pathway,  may  it  be  with  countless  treasures 

strewn, 
And  may'st  thou  fondly  call  the  love  of  many  a  heart 

thine  own. 

And  late  at  life's  sweet  eventide,  when  thou  shalt  sink  to 

rest, 
By  many  a  well-remembered  deed,  O !  be  thy  moments 

blest ; 


THE  TRUE  SOURCE  OF  STRENGTH.        149 

And  when  death's  portal  thou  hast  passed,  may  the  bright 

boon  be  given, 
To  meet  the  approving  smile  of  God,  and  share  the  bliss 

of  heaven. 


THE  TRUE  SOURCE  OF  STRENGTH. 

"  Strength  is  born 

In  the  deep  stillness  of  long  suffering  hearts, 
Not  amid  joy."  MRS.  HEMANS. 

NOT  amid  pleasure's  giddy  throng, 
Where  sweetly  breathes  the  siren  song, 
Gathers  the  spirit  strength  to  bear 
Its  deepest,  heaviest  weight  of  care.. 

Not  where  the  flashing  eye  beams  bright 
With  hope's  sweet  ray  and  memory's  light, 
Not  where  the  wreath  of  rose-hued  flowers 
We  weave  to  deck  life's  sunniest  hours. 

The  siren  strain,  the  gilded  hall, 
Where  light  as  air  gay  footsteps  fall, — 
Not  these  that  blessed  gift  bestow, 
Strength  to  sustain  life's  deepest  wo. 

But  they  above  whose  grief-bowed  head 
No  herald  light  of  day  is  shed,  — 


150  POEMS. 

Whose  hearts  no  ark  of  rest  discern, 
Whither  the  fluttering  dove  may  turn,  — 

They  who  from  childhood's  earliest  day 
Have  seen  each  brilliant  hope  decay,  — 
These,  these  alone  the  fountains  know 
Whence  streams  of  blessed  healing  flow. 

Yes  !  fortune's  frown,  the  altered  gaze 
Of  those  who  shared  our  brightest  days, 
The  weary  day,  the  anxious  night 
Scarce  gloomier  e'en  than  morning  light,  — 

Like  gentlest  messengers  they  come 
To  guide  us  to  our  unseen  home. 
Strength  from  their  mingling  might  is  given 
To  tread  life's  pilgrim  path  to.  heaven*. 

Thanks  for  the  sunlight  of  our  lot ; 
Be  not  its  Gracious  Fount  forgot : 
Yet  shall  our  holiest  praise  arise, 
When  He  withdraws  it  from  our  eyes. 


HE    THAT    OVERCOMETH,   ETC.  151 


HE    THAT   OVERCOMETH   SHALL   INHERIT   ALL 
THINGS." 


BLEST  promise  to  the  sorrowing  heart 

Which  sees  its  early  hopes  depart, 

Like  some  sweet  flower  whose  radiant  bloom 

Sends  up  at  morn  a  rich  perfume  ; 

But  ere  has  beamed  the  sunset  ray, 

Lies  scentless  in  the  traveler's  way. 

Yet,  treasured  in  love's  fountain-cells 
The  memory  of  its  fragrance  dwells ; 
And  o'er  our  path  its  dew  is  shed, 
When  hopes  less  bright  in  death  are  fled. 
So  come  their  memory  o'er  the  heart,  — 
The  early-called  from  life  to  part. 

Ye  who  around  the  bed  of  death 
Have  knelt  to  catch  the  parting  breath  ; 
Ye  who  the  fervent  prayer  have  given 
Through  him  who  points  the  eye  to  heaven, 
Who  once  the  same  dark  pathway  trod  ; 
In  meekness  kiss  the  chastening  rod. 

What  though  within  their  vacant  place, 
The  vanished  forms  no  more  ye  trace  ? 
What  though  be  fled  the  spirit-gem, 
Is  not  the  promise  truth  for  them  ? 
Have  they  not  shared  the  sacred  rest,  — 
The  glorious  guerdon  of  the  blest  ? 


152  POEMS. 

No  night  is  there.     The  King  of  kings 
The  uncreated  day-beam  brings. 
He  bids  the  tear  of  grief  be  dry 
And  hushed  the  anguished  spirit's  sigh. 
Death  may  not  tread  the  courts  above, 
Where  all  is  peace  and  perfect  love. 

Our  Father  !  Thou  whose  sovereign  will 
Can  bid  grief's  gushing  tide  "  be  still !  " 
Whose  voice  recalls  the  gifts  it  sent,  — 
The  blessings  which  thy  mercy  lent ! 
Whose  name  we  own,  the  Good  !  the  Just ! 
Whose  love  renews  our  sinking  trust !  — 

"  Thy  will  be  done  ! "     We  may  not  scan 

The  dealings  of  Thy  hand  to  man. 

Secure  in  Thee  whose  goodness  sheds 

Its  daily  mercies  o'er  our  heads  ; 

We  bow  to  Thee,  Eternal  One ! 

And  humbly  breathe,  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 

Then  let  the  eye  no  longer  weep, 
But  fixed  in  view  the  promise  keep. 
Gird  we  the  armor  to  the  breast, 
To  follow  where  their  feet  have  pressed. 
So  may  we  tread  the  path  they  trod, — 
The  path  to  heaven,  to  bliss,  to  God. 


TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  CHILD  OF  FIVE  YEARS.     153 


TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  CHILD  OP  FIVE  YEARS. 

VISION  of  beauty  !  that  hast  burst 

Upon  my  gazing  sight, 
Breathing  of  grace  and  loveliness, 

All  life,  and  joy,  and  light ; 
Within  that  eye's  deep  tenderness, 

And  on  that  unstained  brow, 
I  trace  the  fearless  confidence 

Which  sorrow  ne'er  should  bow. 

Child  of  scarce  five  short  years,  thyself 

Bright  as  those  precious  hours 
When,  Eden-like,  the  young  year  smiles 

From  out  its  fragrant  bowers  ; 
Thy  Summer's  radiant  flowers  are  strewed 

Along  thy  happy  way  ; 
And  Hope,  sweet  childhood's  brilliant  sun, 

Beams  forth  its  cloudless  ray. 

Sorrow,  as  yet,  upon  thy  brow 

Its  signet  hath  not  pressed : 
Thou  like  some  spotless  spirit  art, 

All  blessing  and  all  blessed. 
Thy  tears  are  nature's  pearly  dew 

Which  joy's  bright  sun  dispels ; 
Thy  smiles  the  gushing  fount  which  from 

Thy  young  heart's  rapture  swells. 
14 


154  POEMS. 

Still  through  life's  mazy  pathway  be 

That  heart  thus  free  from  guile  ; 
As  light  and  glad  that  bounding  step  ; 

As  bright  that  beaming  smile. 
Still  be  the  sunlight  of  thy  glance 

Fair  with  truth's  heavenly  ray  ; 
And  the  rich  promise  of  thy  morn 

Brighten  to  "  perfect  day." 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  REV.  SAMUEL  PRESBURY. 

A  STRAIN  is  bursting  on  the  ear, 

Even  at  the  portals  of  the  tomb : 
That  strain  the  stricken  heart  can  cheer, 

And  whisper  peace  'mid  death  and  gloom. 
Though  dust  return  to  kindred  dust, 

And  nature  wage  the  last  sad  strife, 
In  him  we  place  our  quenchless  trust,  — 

"  The  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 

Glory  to  Thee,  the  King  of  kings  ! 

Eternal  One  !  enthroned  on  high ! 
Thy  word  the  blest  assurance  brings ; 

Checked  is  the  murmur  and  the  sigh. 


TO    THE   MEMORY,  ETC.  155 

While  nature  o'er  the  loved  one's  rest 

The  tear  of  fond  regret  must  weep, 
The  spirits  of  the  good  and  blest 

Their  vigils  o'er  his  slumbers  keep. 

Yet  not  for  him  whose  shining  way 

Is  'mid  the  radiant  realms  on  high, 
On  whom  has  beamed  the  perfect  day, 

O !  not  for  him  the  tearful  eye. 
But  they  whose  sun  of  hope  has  set 

Even  at  its  zenith  pure  and  bright,  — 
Who  can  those  stricken  hearts  forget, 

To  whom  is  lost  that  vanished  light  ? 

Thou  to  whose  changeless  throne  above, 

Faith  looks  beyond  the  silent  tomb  ! 
O  !  be  "  Thy  banner  o'er  them  love," 

To  cheer  'mid  darkness,  death  and  gloom. 
Be  o'er  their  path  a  shining  ray  ; 

The  shadows  brooding  round  dispel ; 
Till  night  be  merged  in  endless  day, 

And  joy's  rich  choral  strain  shall  swell. 

There  shall  they  meet,  the  parted  here,  — 

The  husband,  brother,  father,  son  : 
From  error  free,  released  from  fear, 

His  crown  of  heavenly  light  is  won. 
No  more  to  share  earth's  pain  and  grief, 

To  struggle  with  its  care  and  strife, 
In  Him  his  spirit  finds  relief, 

"  The  Resurrection  and  the  Life," 


156  POEMS. 


FLORA'S   OFFERING. 

COULD  we  a  sweeter  tribute  bring 
Than  this,  blest  nature's  offering  ? 
For  Love  in  silent  beauty  dwells 
Deep  in  the  floweret's  fragrant  cells. 

Of  changeless  truth  their  fragrance  breathes-, 
Hope  with  their  hues  her  radiance  wreathes, 
And  Faith  grows  holier  and  more  bright, 
Reflected  from  their  sunny  light. 

Then  take  our  simple  gift.     Be  not 
The  hearts  which  prompt  that  gift  forgot, 
But  still,  as  future  years  return, 
Let  Love's  pure  flame  yet  brighter  burn. 

And  when  upon  that  shore  we  stand, 
The  Christian's  holy  "  better  land," 
Flowers  never  touched  by  earth's  cold  blight 
Shall  bloom  eternal,  fadeless,  bright. 


GLORY   TO   GOD   IN    THE   HIGHEST,   ETC.  157 


GLORY  TO  GOD  IN  THE  HIGHEST,  AND  ON  EARTH 
PEACE,  GOOD  WILL  TO  MEN." 


GLORY  to  God  !  the  angels-  sang, 

When  hovering  o'er  Judea's  plain  ; 
The  courts  of  heaven  in  chorus  rang, 

And  earth  reechoed  back  the  strain. 
For  every  hope  that  lights  our  way, 

For  every  joy  that  breathes  of  heaven, 
For  faith's  undying  spirit-ray, 

Our  praise  to  Thee,  our  God !  is  given. 

Not  for  these  gifts  alone,  would  we 

In  grateful  adoration  bow  ; 
Eternal  Source  of  love  !  to  Thee 

A  holier  incense  raise  we  now. 
Thanks  for  the  gracious  blessings  sealed 

By  him,  Thy  well-beloved  Son  ; 
Thanks  for  the  glorious  hopes  revealed, 

That  point  to  heaven,  and  glory  won. 

"  Good  will  to  men  !  "     The  holy  theme 

Let  earth's  adoring  millions  swell  : 
He  came  earth's  millions  to  redeem ; 

Shall  words  alone  our  homage  tell  ? 
Not  from  Thy  anger's  fiery  breath 

Came  he  to  set  our  spirits  free  : 
But  dearer  far,  from  sin  and  death, 

To  lead  our  footsteps  back  to  Thee. 
14* 


158  POEMS. 

That  star  which  erst  the  Magi  led, 

From  eastern  climes,  their  meed  to  pay, 
O  !  be  its  gracious  radiance  shed, 

To  guide  us  in  the  heavenly  way. 
So  may  we  tread  the  path  he  trod, 

Though  dark  and  thorny  it  may  be, 
His  Father  ours,  and  ours  his  God, 

Till  we  in  heaven  our  rest  may  see. 

There  shall  we  raise  the  exulting  strain, 

"  Let  glory  be  to  God  most  High  !  " 
Nor  sin  shall  blight,  nor  error  stain, 

Where  love's  rich  fountain  greets  the  eye. 
Nor  can  the  swelling  incense  end  ;  — 

The  theme  demands  eternity : 
Our  notes  with  seraph  harps  shall  blend, 

And  raise  the  undying  strain  to  Thee, 


THE   ALTARS    OF   A   HOUSEHOLD.  159 


THE  ALTARS  OF  A  HOUSEHOLD. 

IN  childhood  round  one  common  shrine  they  bent  the 

knee  in  prayer, 
Breathing  that  incense  of  the  heart,  a  grateful  offering, 

there. 
A  common  love  a  common  faith,  their  souls   in   union 

bound, 
And  there  the  same  blest  hope  of  heaven  their  mingling 

spirits  found. 

The  mother  o'er  her  infant's  couch  in  silent  worship 
bent, 

Raising  her  fervent  prayer  to  God,  all  hushed,  yet  elo- 
quent, 

That  in  the  fairer  home  above  their  spirits  yet  might 
meet, 

And  pour  their  holier  homage  forth  before  the  Mercy- 
seat. 

But  years  passed  on.  All  beautiful  as  childhood's  radiant 
dream, 

Each  bark  of  hope  sped  gayly  on  o'er  life's  unsullied 
stream. 

The  father's  eye  grew  eloquent  with  thoughts  he  might 
not  speak, 

That  holiest  thing,  a  mother's  tear,  glowed  on  her  kin- 
dling cheek. 


160  POEMS. 

Now  parted  from  that  blessed  spot,  that  altar  so  divine, 
They  rear  for  love   another  home,  for   Faith   another 

shrine. 
Though  by  a  different  sign  they  name  the  Undefiled  and 

Blest, 
Yet  droops  his  sheltering  wing  above  each  humble,  holy 

breast. 

To  Him,  our  Father  and  our  Friend,  whom-  heaven's 
bright  hosts  adore, 

Whose  hallowed  name  shall  yet  resound  to  earth's  re- 
motest shore, 

An  humble  suppliant  bends  to  Him,  the  One  Great  King 
of  kings, 

And  through  His  well  beloved  Son  accepted  worship 
brings. 

One   bends   within   that   stately  fane,  upon  thy  classic 

strand, 
Immortal  Rome  !  the  poet's  theme,  thou  proud  and  storied 

land! 

One  upon  Afric's  sandy  shores  erects  his  humble  shrine, 
And  one  adores  upon  thy  hills,  time-hallowed  Palestine. 

Bowing  before  the  throne  of  God  the  holy  vow  they  take, 
Who  seal  that  precious  bond  of  love  which  death  can 

never  break ; 
Then  with  unfaltering  souls  His  shield  fast  to  their  hearts 

they  gird, 
And  spread  abroad  through  heathen  gloom  the  riches 

of  His  word. 


THE  ALTARS  OF  A  HOUSEHOLD.         161 

Yes  !  Afric's  sands,  and  Asia's  isles,  and  Europe's  clas- 
sic strand, 

Have  each  a  shrine  at  which  they  kneel,  that  once  united 
band. 

Richly  from  each  devoted  heart  the  incense  swells  to 
Heaven, 

As  when  around  a  mother's  knee  childhood's  pure  vows 
were  given. 

Yet  once  again  their  voices  swell  within  that  glorious 

fane, 
The  only  perfect  home  of  love,  where  peace  and  rapture 

reign. 
United,  never  more  to  part,  they  share  that  heavenly 

rest, 
And  raise  a  new  and  holier  song,  the  anthenx  of  the 

blest. 


162  POEMS. 


THE   PAST. 

MY  tearful  gaze  I  dare  not  cast 
Upon  the  well-remembered  past. 
As  bursts  the  sigh  of  vain  regret, 
Fain  would  my  heart  its  scenes  forget. 

Deep  on  its  tablets  is  impressed 
The  memory  of  those  days  most  blest, 
When  time  on  golden  wing  flew  by, 
And  rapture  lit  the  sparkling  eye. 

Changed  is  the  scene.     How  many  a  form, 
Within  whose  veins  life's  tide  flowed  warm, 
On  its  low  bed  in  silence  sleeps, 
While  kindred  nature  o'er  it  weeps ! 

Brighter  than  beam  the  sunny  skies, 
Where  Europe's  proudest  columns  rise, 
Our  hopes  as  stars  of  promise  shone, 
Now  merged  in  night,  forever  gone. 

Our  earthly  hopes  :  one  glorious  goal, 
Whose  splendors  fix  the  trusting  soul, 
As  fair,  as  bright,  as  changeless  glows, 
While  time  with  rapid  current  flows. 

God's  presence,  Faith's  celestial  theme, 
Outrivals  earth's  most  radiant  beam  ; 
Illumines  sorrow's  midnight  sky, 
And  gilds  joy's  holy  home  on  high. 


TO   A   LADY.  163 


TO  A  LADY. 

IF  ever  Heaven  its  seal  had  set 

On  aught  to  cherish  or  admire, 
If  ever  truth  and  grace  have  met, 

To  kindle  love's  celestial  fire,  — - 

We  find  it  on  that  noble  brow, 
In  the  deep  fount  that  feeds  thine  eye, 

In  that  young  heart,  so  joyous  now, 

Which  knows  no  care,  which  heaves  no  sigh. 

Thus  ever  may  life's  golden  stream 
Reflect  the  flowers  that  gem  its  shore  ; 

And  ever  may  joy's  holiest  beam 

Shine  bright,  as  now,  its  current  o'er. 

O !  ever  may  that  eye  of  thine 

Still  beam,  in  youth  or  age,  the  same ; 

And  may  love's  own  immortal  shrine 
E'er  light  for  thee  its  incense  flame. 


164  POEMS. 

TO  MRS.  HEMANS. 

SUGGESTED    BY   "  MEMOIRS    BY    HER    SISTER." 

BRIGHTEST  of  England's  minstrel  band  ! 

How  dear  the  memory  of  thy  name ! 
Not  from  that  proud  and  storied  land 

Alone,  dost  thou  thy  guerdon  claim. 
The  million  voices  of  "  the  Free  " 
Swell  the  high  tribute  paid  to  thee. 

How  sweetly  from  thy  muse  are  shed 
Thy  mingling  notes  of  bliss  and  pain ! 

As  Memory's  harp,  when  day  has  fled, 
Breathes  on  the  soul  its  varied  strain ; 

Or  night's  sweet  dream  reveals  some  lay, 

Which  dies  as  wakes  morn's  beaming  ray. 

We  weep  in  sadness  o'er  thy  fate,  — 
A  widow's  lot,  though  wedded,  thine ; 

In  Fame's  proud  temple  desolate, 

Though  rich  the  gift  that  graced  thy  shrine. 

Far  dearer  was  the  low-breathed  tone 

Which  spoke  one  human  heart  thine  own. 

How  did  thy  woman's  spirit  yearn, 

Thou  crowned  with  Fame's  most  glorious  flowers, 
From  that  proud  boon  thy  brow  to  turn, 

And  rest  thy  heart  in  love's  sweet  bowers ! 
How  were  its  inmost  fountains  stirred 
By  one  low-uttered  "  household  word  !  " 


ALL   THY   WORKS    SHALL    PRAISE   THEE,  ETC.         165 

Thou  hast  thy  praise,  sweet  minstrel,  thou ! 

Nobler  than  Fame's  triumphant  peal ; 
The  King  of  kings  upon  thy  brow 

Had  stamped  the  Christian's  glorious  seal ; 
Nor  could  griers  heaviest  touch  efface 
The  record  of  His  conquering  grace. 

Calmly  as  fades  day's  farewell  beam, 

Thy  weary  spirit  sank  to  rest, 
To  waken  from  earth's  fitful  dream, 

In  the  fair  mansions  of  the  blest, 
And  tune  to  more  seraphic  strains 
Thy  harp,  where  endless  rapture  reigns. 


"ALL  THY  WORKS  SHALL  PRAISE  THEE,  AND  THY 
SAINTS  SHALL  BLESS  THEE." 


ONE  universal  strain  of  praise 
Creation  to  its  God  shall  raise  ; 
Its  matin  song,  its  vesper  tone, 
Swell  ceaseless  to  its  Maker's  throne. 

Morn  wakes  for  Him  its  radiant  beam  ; 
Him  starry  midnight  makes  its  theme  ; 
Their  anthem  strains  His  children  bring, 
While  prayer  lifts  up  its  sacred  wing. 
15 


166  POEMS. 

Yet  notes  more  holy  shall  ascend, 
With  angel  harmony  to  blend  : 
Praise  in  His  earthly  courts  is  given ; 
Praise  tunes  the  harps  of  saints  in  heaven- 
Eternal  Father  !  King  divine  ! 
Grant  we  may  meet  around  Thy  shrine, 
And  wake  to  Thee  that  strain  on  high, 
Whose  melody  shall  never  die. 


A  SKETCH. 

BRIGHT  and  most  beautiful  she  sank  to  rest ; 
Not  as  the  angry  storm-wind,  spent  with  rage, 
Ceases  its  roaring,  to  resume  once  more 
Its  march  of  devastation  o'er  the  land ; 
But  as  the  summer  breeze,  that  gently  floats 
Around  our  path,  and  wafts  the  rich  perfume 
Of  Nature's  glorious  flowers,  when  sunset  glows, 
And  kindly  lingers  in  the  radiant  west. 

Scarcely  had  eighteen  summers  o'er  her  head 
Their  golden  sunlight  lavished.     It  was  well 
That,  as  the  summer  floweret  drooped  and  died, 
When  breathed  upon  by  Autumn's  siroc  lip, 
That  lovelier  flower  should  fold  its  bursting  leaves, 
Which  God's  own  touch  had  painted,  that  its  bloom 
Might  yet  unfold  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers. 


A    SKETCH.  167 

The  hopes  of  many  a  glad  and  gushing  heart 
Were  garnered  in  her.     That  pale  mother's  eye, 
Dimmed  by  its  midnight  vigil  at  her  couch, 
Shed  o'er  her  rest  the  silent,  secret  tear. 
Oft  to  the  throne  of  God  her  prayer  arose, 
That  He  would  spare  that  treasure  of  her  heart. 
She  was  a  Christian  mother ;  and  the  prayer, 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  though  choked  by  many  a  sigh, 
And  scarce  articulate  from  excess  of  grief, 
Was  yet  the  whisper  of  her  bursting  heart. 

Life  was  extinct ;  not  less  in  that  young  heart, 
The  last  sole  relic  of  a  mother's  gems, 
Than  in  her  earthly  hopes,  that  suffering  one. 
Widowed  and  childless  in  her  misery, 
Where  could  that  mother  turn  her  asking  eye 
Better  than  to  His  throne,  whose  grace  is  near 
The  Christian  mourner  in  his  agony  ? 
He  saw  her  anguish,  heard  the  prayer  of  faith, 
And  gently  led  her  to  her  heavenly  home, 
Where  each  bright  jewel,  lent  her  upon  earth, 
Shines,  fair  and  fadeless,  in  the  courts  of  heaven. 


168  POEMS. 


DIEU  EST  PARTOUT. 

WHERE  is  Thy  favored  shrine, 
God  of  creation's  space  ? 
Where  is  the  temple  wholly  thine, 
Where  we  may  seek  Thy  face  ? 

What  altar  can  we  see, 
Beneath  the  arch  of  heaven, 
To  which  our  contrite  souls  may  flee, 
And  find  their  sins  forgiven  ? 

Art  Thou  not  every  where  ? 
Our  Father  and  our  God  ! 
O'er  earth  and  heaven,  through  sea  and  air, 
Thy  glory  shines  abroad. 

But,  while  the  dome  we  rear, 
Sacred  to  Thee  alone, 
Those  gracious  words  the  spirit  cheer, 
"  Creation  is  my  own." 

Thy  hands  have  reared  a  shrine, 

Where  all  may  kneel  in  prayer ; 

Where,  kindled  by  Thy  love  divine, 

Our  souls  that  love  may  share. 

God  of  the  azure  heaven ! 
God  of  the  forest  shade  ! 
These  are  Thy  shrines,  to  mortals  given, 
For  earthly  incense  made. 


AUTUMN    HYMN. 


Then  be  our  spirits  fraught 
With  pure  and  constant  love. 
May  every  wish,  may  every  thought, 
Aspire  to  Thee  above. 


AUTUMN  HYMN. 

Low  at  Thy  throne,  great  God !  we  bend, 

Our  filial  sacrifice  to  raise  ; 
While  to  Thy  gracious  throne  ascend 

Our  mingling  notes  of  prayer  and  praise. 

Again  Thy  presence  would  we  seek ; 

For  pardon  ta  Thy  throne  we  turn : 
The  contrite  heart,  the  spirit  meek, 

Father !  Thy  love  will  never  spurn. 

That  love,  our  sure,  unfailing  shield, 
Preserved  us  through  the  former  year ; 

Its  strength,  all  powerful,  was  revealed 
When  danger,  doubt,  and  death  were  near. 

To  Thee  our  harvest-gift  we  bring  ; 

Let  all  the  harvest-anthem  swell. 
Accept  the  meed,  Eternal  King  ! 

And  let  Thy  influence  with  us  dwell. 
15* 


170  POEMS. 

Our  gift,  —  it  is  the  low-breathed  prayer, 
The  swelling  strain  of  grateful  praise. 

Our  tongues  Thy  glory  shall  declare, 

Whose  goodness  crowns  our  lengthened  days. 

So,  when  life's  autumn  day  shall  come, 
And  call  Thy  servants  to  their  rest, 

Grant  we  may  sing  our  "  harvest  home," 
'Mid  the  bright  myriads  of  the  blest. 

In  holier,  more  angelic  strains, 

Our  harps  shall  join  the  choir  above, 

Where  grandeur,  glory,  rapture  reigns, 
And  heaven  is  one  wide  realm  of  love. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

COME  ye  in  holy  fear, 

Around  our  loved  one's  tranquil  rest  to  bend ; 
While  faith's  sustaining  tones  to  heaven  ascend, 

Draw  ye  in  silence  near  : 

She  sleeps  in  death's  tmwakening  slumber  there,  - 
Death,  coldly,  calmly,  beautifully  fair. 

Look  on  the  marble  brow, 
Whose  Parian  pureness  speaks  her  early  doom, 
A  holy  flower  on  heaven's  bright  shores  to  bloom. 

In  sacred  silence  now, 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT.         171 

Never  earth's  fitful,  feverish  glare  to  know, 
The  soft-fringed  lid  is  closed  on  mortal  wo. 

Yet  come  in  trusting  love  : 
Pure  as  it  was,  the  spirit  fled  that  shrine, 
To  quench  its  sacred  thirst  at  springs  divine. 

She,  in  the  courts  above, 
In  uncreated  light  and  glory  dwells, 
And  there  the  song  of  holy  rapture  swells. 

Is  it  not  well  with  those, 

Those  whom  on  earth  the  heavenly  Master  blessed  ?  — 
The  early-called  to  heaven's  eternal  rest  ? 

Pledge  of  her  sure  repose 
Is  the  sweet  rest  our  loved  one  seems  to  keep, 
Calmly,  as  hushed  in  nature's  tranquil  sleep. 

Has  she  not  won  it  all  ? 
Unbowed  by  sorrow,  and  unstained  by  sin, 
Is  it  not  hers  the  glorious  meed  to  win  ? 

Would  we  that  soul  recall, 
And  bid  the  rushing  tide  of  nature  shed 
Its  living  glow  o'er  that  young,  sinless  head  ? 

Let  nature  mourn  that  she 
No  more  may  turn  on  us  that  death^sealed  eye ; 
Faith's  ardent  gaze  can  pierce  the  clouded  sky. 

Source  of  our  trust !  to  Thee 
In  holy  confidence  the  dust  we  give : 
Thy  thrilling  voice  can  bid  the  slumberer  live. 

Does  she  not  live  in  heaven  ? 
What  mortal  eye  could  view  the  angelic  band 
That  led  the  ransomed  to  the  promised  land  ? 


172  POEMS. 

To  heavenly  harps  was  given 
The  strain  which  bade  her  welcome  to  the  shore 
Where  the  freed  soul  can  taste  of  death  no  more. 


THE  WORSHIP  OF  CHILDHOOD. 
THE    SPONTANEOUS   TRIBUTE  OF  A  CHILD    OF   FOUR   YEARS. 

MORN  broke  in  beauty  on  the  eye,  and  tinged  a  glorious 

scene, 
The  broad  o'erarching  dome  of  heaven  and   fields  of 

verdant  green. 
The  smile   of  God  was  on  His  work,  the  beautiful  and 

bright, 
And  earth  gave  back  its  radiant  glow,  as  woke  morn's 

dawning  light. 

Nature  in  matchless  beauty  bowed  before  her  Maker's 
shrine, 

And,  vocal  with  her  myriad  tones,  adored  His  hand 
divine. 

His  love  lit  up  her  sunny  brow,  and  woke  her  kindling 
smile, 

And  to  her  breath  its  perfume  gave,  man's  spirit  to  be- 
guile. 


THE   WORSHIP   OF   CHILDHOOD.  173 

From   whispering   bough,  and   murmuring  brook,  and 

feathered  minstrels'  lays, 

Arose  the  mingling  sacrifice,  the  choral  song  of  praise. 
As  though  an  angel's  wing  had  drooped  in  grace  and 

glory  there, 
Went   up  from  His  mute  worshipers  the  "  still  small " 

breath  of  prayer. 

While  swelled  the  adoring  anthem  forth  from  mountain 

and  from  plain, 
A  noble  boy  the  music  caught,  and  raised  his  tuneful 

strain. 
While  with  his  infant  voice  he  spread  his  Maker's  praise 

abroad, 
He  gently  whispered  in  our  ear,  "  I  sang  that  song  for 

God." 

Thou  blessed  one !  upon  whose  brow  life's   dew-drops 

still  are  bright, 

Homage  like  that  ascends  to  God,  accepted  in  His  sight. 
Richer  than  minstrel's  melody,  or  organ's  pealing  tone, 
The  heart's  deep  adoration  swells  to  His  celestial  throne. 

When  manhood's  sterner  seal  is  set  upon  that  infant  brow, 

Still  be  thy  spirit's  homage  poured,  as  pure,  as  fresh  as 
now : 

The  hand  of  God  be  on  thy  head,  His  smile  illume  the 
way 

Which  leads  His  fervent  worshiper  to  heaven's  un- 
clouded day. 


174  POEMS. 


"I  SEE  THEE  STILL." 

MOTHER  and  wife ! 

From  thine  abode  of  purity  and  peace, 
Thou  comest  in  thy  gentle  beauty  back, 
As  full  of  meek  and  quiet  loveliness, 
As  when  thy  home  was  earth. 

"  I  see  thee  still," 

A  year,  that  works  such  deep  mysterious  change, 
Cannot  efface  thy  memory  from  my  heart. 
The  friend,  within  whose  veins  the  tide  of  life 
Flows  warm,  may  change,  and  the  sweet  flower  of  love 
Lie  crushed  and  scentless  in  our  desolate  path. 
The  dead  change  not :  with  mystic  beauty  crowned, 
They  visit  us,  and  with  mysterious  tones, 
Low  whispered  in  the  midnight  solitude, 
Or  twilight's  gentle  hush,  they  breathe  the  vow 
Of  love,  unchanged,  unchangeable,  divine. 

"  I  see  thee  still ;  "  not  in  thy  coffined  sleep, 
When  weeping  friends  in  silent  sorrow  met, 
To  bear  thy  precious  ashes  to  their  rest. 
I  see  thee,  as  thy  living  image  moved, 
Blessing  the  home  where  thou  didst  do  thy  work, 
In  singleness  of  heart,  as  serving  God. 
Yes,  sainted  one  !  each  deed  of  holy  love, 
Not  on  the  crumbling  marble  traced,  but  stamped 
In  characters  that  time  cannot  efface, 
Deep  on  my  heart,  bears  record  of  thy  worth. 


I    SEE    THEE    STILL.  175 

And  yet  again  I  meet  thee,  where  thy  feet 

Entered  with  reverent  step  the  house  of  God. 

In  thine  accustomed  seat  I  see  the  eye 

Bent  down  in  silent  prayer,  or  raised  to  catch 

A  blessing  from  His  sacred  oracles  ; 

And  still  again  at  the  baptismal  font, 

Where  thou  didst  lead  the  treasures  He  had  gi  ven  , 

To  dedicate  them  to  His  holy  Son. 

Once  more,  I  meet  thee  at  the  hallowed  feast, 

The  sweet  memorial  of  his  matchless  love. 

There  didst  thou  love  to  come,  nor  was  thy  seat 

E'er  vacant  at  the  consecrated  board, 

Till  wan  disease  its  finger  laid  on  thee, 

And  as  a  holy  messenger  of  love, 

Led  thee  from  earth's  imperfect  rite  to  turn, 

And,  at  the  marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb, 

To  sit  thee  down  in  joy. 


But  not  where  blooming  only  to  decay 
Comes  the  sweet  breath  of  Spring's  awakening  flowers, 
Within  Mount  Pleasant's  prayer-blest  solitudes  : 
Not  there  I  see  thee. 

But  where  flowers  burst  forth, 
All  radiant  with  the  hues  of  living  bloom, 
Thyself  a  seraph  form,  with  golden  harp, 
And  spotless  robe,  and  voice  of  melody, 
I  see  thee  standing  mid  a  shining  band. 
Thine  eye  is  turned  to  earth  with  tender  beam 
Of  love  ecstatic,  and  thy  heaven-tuned  lip 
Calls  us  to  join  thee  there. 


176  POEMS. 

Ah  !  thou  wast  dear,  — 

Art  dear  to  me,  though  death  divides  our  homes. 
Shall  love  delight  the  less  in  tranquil  hour, 
To  meditate  upon  the  friend  in  heaven 
Than  on  the  friend  on  earth  ?     No  :  let  us  hold 
Communion  with  the  Infinite,  Unseen, 
That  when  our  souls,  death's  narrow  pathway  past, 
Shall  enter  at  the  golden  gate  of  heaven, 
It  may  not  be  as  strangers,  but  as  those 
Who  claim  some  kindred  with  the  souls  within. 

Yes  !  thou  art  dear  to  me,  thou  glorified  ! 
Thine  was  a  sister's  sweetness,  with  a  truth 
And  dignity  that  almost  won  from  me 
A  daughter's  loving  trust.     O !  if  to  thee, 
Ransomed,  redeemed  from  the  embrace  of  earth, 
Our  yearning  love  can  soar,  and  if  thy  soul 
Communes  with  hearts  left  sorrowing  here  below, 
Not  vain,  perchance,  the  tribute  which  I  pay 
To  thy  loved  memory. 


CHRIST    STILLING   THE   TEMPEST.  177 


CHRIST  STILLING  THE  TEMPEST. 

LONELY  and  solemn  night ! 
And  in  the  bark  the  silence  of  despair : 
The  brooding  gloom,  the  storm-wind's  fearful  might, 

Alike  breathe  terror  there. 

And  hearts  with  anguish  beat, 
Noble  and  giantlike  in  manly  pride ; 
Though  feeble  now  their  mortal  strength,  to  meet 

The  stern  and  swelling  tide. 

But  see  !  what  godlike  form 
Triumphant  treads  the  rudely  tossing  wave, 
While  bending  low  to  Him  who  rules  the  storm, 

His  feet  the  billows  lave  ? 

To  the  astonished  eye 

Of  those  who  mark  this  dread  display  of  power, 
A  spirit  seems,  with  purpose  stern  and  high, 

To  rule  the  fearful  hour. 

Deep  horror  fills  the  soul ; 
The  straining  eyes  with  wondering  awe  dilate ; 
And  as  the  foaming  surges  round  them  roll, 

Trembling,  their  doom  they  wait. 

But  list !  a  "  still,  small  voice  " 
Of  more  than  seraph  sweetness  meets  the  ear  : 
16 


178  POEMS. 

Amid  the  gloom  their  troubled  souls  rejoice  ; 
Their  Saviour,  he  is  near. 

The  billows  sink  to  rest, 
Calmly  upon  the  bosom  of  the  deep, — 
As  infant  folded  to  its  mother's  breast, 

Rests  in  its  placid  sleep. 

Jesus !  whose  mighty  word 
The  raging  tempest  lulled  to  sweetest  peace, 
When  our  souls'  depths  by  passion's  breeze  are  stirred, 

Bid  the  wild  tumult  cease. 

And  when  the  hour  is  nigh 
Which  tries  our  faith  or  lures  our  feet  from  thee, 
Whisper  those  thrilling  accents,  "  It  is  I," 

And  hush  our  agony. 


I   ASK   NOT   THY   SMILES.  179 


"I  ASK  NOT  THY  SMILES." 

I  ASK  not  thy  smiles  when  thy  fortunes  are  bright, 
When  wealth  slreds  around  thee  its  magical  light : 
Enough  will  be  near  thee,  in  homage  to  bow, 
And  twine  the  gay  chaplet  to  wreathe  o'er  thy  brow. 

But  when,  sad  and  lonely,  thou  bowest  thy  head, 
And  all  the  gay  train  which  late  worshiped  has  fled, 
Then  I  would  be  with  thee,  thy  anguish  to  share, 
To  soothe  sad  remembrance  and  weep  with  thee  there. 

O !  not  when  earth's  splendors  shine  brightest  and  best, 

Can  the  force  of  affection  be  put  to  the  test ; 

But  the  hour  of  its  triumph,  its  jubilee  strain, 

Is  the  night-watch  of  sorrow,  the  dirge-note  of  pain. 

Yes  !  lonely  and  rayless  existence  would  be, 
Were  the  heart  from  affliction's  sweet  ministry  free. 
In  the  midnight  of  sorrow,  Faith's  star  beams  most  bright, 
And  Love  o'er  the  soul  sheds  its  holiest  light. 

Then  give  to  the  many  the  smiles  of  those  hours, 
O'er  which  have  been  lavished  life's  paradise  flowers. 
Thy  moments  of  gladness  their  spirits  may  prize  : 
I  ask  for  thy  anguish,  thy  tears  and  thy  sighs. 


180  POEMS. 


"  BLESSED    ARE    THE   DEAD    WHICH    DIE   IN   THE 
LORD." 


WE  marked  her  fading  cheek, 
And  gazed  in  sadness  on  her  closing  eye  : 
We  knew  the  spoiler's  ruthless  hand  was  nigh. 

But  human  strength  was  weak  : 
Love  could  not  shield  her  in  its  fond  embrace, 
From  him  who  spares  not  beauty,  rank,  nor  grace. 

The  silent  tear  we  shed. 
Did  not  the  Saviour  hallow  with  a  tear, 
Alike  the  lowly  grave,  the  sable  bier  ? 

And  o'er  our  loved  and  dead 
Shall  not  fond  Nature's  dewy  incense  fall, 
As  from  the  past  her  image  we  recall  ? 

The  placid  smile  we  miss, 
Which  kindled  gladness  wheresoe'er  it  fell, — 
The  heart  which  beat  so  true,  and  loved  so  well. 

It  was  our  meed  of  bliss 
To  share  awhile  the  sunlight  of  her  love, 
Ere  it  should  shed  its  brighter  glow  above. 

Heave  not  the  anguished  sigh 
For  her  who  calmly,  meekly  bowed  her  head, 
Fearless,  death's  hope-illumined  path  to  tread. 

Lift  ye  the  soul  on  high 
In  grateful  praise  for  that  last  conquest-hour, 
When  death  stood  vanquished  by  Faith's  mighty  power. 


TO   A    SLEEPING   INFANT.  181 

Farewell !  sweet  friend  !  farewell ! 
May  we  but  follow,  as  thy  footsteps  pressed 
The  untrodden  path  our  Lord  and  Saviour  blest ; 

Then  shall  our  spirits  swell 
The  song  of  greeting  on  that  peaceful  shore, 
Where  earth's  sad  strain  of  parting  is  no  more. 


TO  A  SLEEPING  INFANT. 

VISION  of  purity  and  grace  ! 
Upon  whose  lineaments  we  trace 
The  image  of  that  perfect  mind 
Within  thy  tiny  form  enshrined, 
How  yearns  my  heart  in  tenderness, 
Thy  opening,  onward  path  to  bless  ! 

Bright  are  the  skies  above  thee  spread, 
Sweet  are  the  flowers  around  thee  shed. 
Thy  stainless  cheek,  this  blessed  rest, 
May  image  well  thy  infant  breast. 
The  untroubled  depths  of  life's  fair  stream 
Reflect  alone  heaven's  radiant  beam. 

Child  of  a  mother's  ceaseless  care, 
Of  trembling  hope  and  fervent  prayer ! 
16* 


182  POEMS. 

What  destiny  is  thine  below, 
Our  bounded  vision  may  not  know  : 
Vain  is  the  spirit's  highest  lore 
The  untrodden  future  to  explore. 

Silent  His  perfect  will  we  wait, 
Who  watches  o'er  thy  coming  fate, 
With  more  than  father's  faithful  eye, 
Or  mother's  gushing  sympathy  ; 
Who  hears  the  ravens  as  they  call, 
And  marks  the  tender  sparrow's  fall. 

Seek  for  that  jewel  rich  and  rare, 
Which  comes,  and  comes  alone,  by  prayer, 
His  strengthening  grace  in  danger's  hour, 
His  sheltering  love  when  tempests  lower  : 
So  shall  the  certain  path  be  trod, 
Which  leads  to  glory  and  to  God, 


LINES   WRITTEN   AFTER  AN   ORDINATION.  183 


LINES  WRITTEN  AFTER  AN  ORDINATION. 

IF  ever  angel's  wing 
Droop  from  its  home  of  purity  and  bliss, 
Pardon,  salvation,  blessedness  to  bring, 

It  is  in  hours  like  this. 

The  holy  rite  is  done  ; 
The  solemn,  consecrating  prayer  is  said. 
Servant  of  God  and  herald  of  his  Son ! 

Peace  be  upon  thy  head. 

Fast  to  thy  spirit  gird 

The  shield  of  faith,  to  guard  in  danger's  hour. 
Thy  helmet  be  salvation,  and  His  word 

Thy  sword  of  conquering  power. 

Even  as  a  daily  dress, 

Truth's  radiant  robe  of  grace  and  glory  wear. 
The  shining  breastplate  of  His  righteousness 

Like  Christ's  true  soldier  bear. 

Watchman  on  Zion's  hill ! 
Set  the  glad  word  of  mercy  to  proclaim, 
Make  known  to  men  thy  Father's  gracious  will, 

And  magnify  His  name. 

So  when  the  Master's  voice 
Shall  summon  thee  in  glory  to  appear, 
As  peasant's  heart  at  eventide,  rejoice 

The  low-breathed  call  to  hear. 


184  POEMS. 

And  as  his  weary  feet 
Turn  fondly  to  his  home  at  close  of  day, 
So  may  thy  heart  with  holy  rapture  beat, 

To  tread  death's  heavenward  way. 

God  keep  thy  soul  in  love, 
Strong  through  the  conquering  energy  of  prayer, 
Till  gathered  to  His  ministry  above, 

Thy  Saviour  greets  thee  there. 


"IT  IS  WELL." 

IT  is  not  when  to  mortal  sight, 

Earth's  glittering  day-dreams  seem  most  bright, 

Not  when  its  smiles  are  all  our  own, 

Are  Faith's  sublimest  triumphs  known. 

When  summer  skies,  with  golden  ray, 

Illume  the  flowers  that  strew  our  way, 

How  easy  from  our  joy's  full  cell, 

Gush  the  sweet  accents,  "  it  is  well !  " 

But  when,  in  speechless  wo,  the  heart 

Sees  one  by  one  its  hopes  depart, 

And  earth's  most  rich  and  radiant  bloom 

Lies  scentless  in  its  early  tomb ; 

Then  through  the  might  of  him  whose  word 

The  raging  waves  obedient  heard, 


IT    IS   WELL.  185 

More  sweetly  'mid  the  tempest's  swell, 
Breathes  the  low  whisper,  "  it  is  well." 

Fond  record  to  the  stricken  breast ! 
Saviour !  thy  sacred  name  be  blest ! 
Be  near  us  in  our  hour  of  need ; 
Safely  our  sinking  footsteps  lead. 
Thine  eye  of  pitying  love  can  see 
Our  depth  of  secret  agony. 
Thou  who  didst  once  with  mortals  dwell, 
Say  to  our  spirits,  "  it  is  well !." 

Though  the  fond  heart  in  anguish  mourn 
The  treasures  from  its  casket  torn  ; 
'Mid  fadeless  flowers  and  cloudless  skies, 
They  shine  as  gems  of  Paradise. 
There  Hope  to  full  fruition  turns, 
And  Love  with  beam  undying  burns ; 
While,  'mid  the  harps  which  round  her  swell, 
Faith  sings  exulting,  "  it  was  well." 


186  POEMS. 


"IN  DREAMS  OF  SILENT  NIGHT." 

IN  dreams  of  silent  night,  thy  voice 

Fell  gently  on  my  ear. 
Though  all  unseen  thy  shadowy  form, 

Yet  still  that  voice  was  near. 

Like  music  from  some  blessed  land, 

Upon  my  ear  it  stole, 
And  breathed  a  speechless  ecstasy 

Throughout  my  inmost  soul. 

It  woke,  with  wizard's  spell,  a  thought 
Of  bright,  but  vanished  hours  ; 

When  gayly  in  its  blooming  paths 
I  plucked  life's  thornless  flowers. 

But  not  on  me  thy  words  sent  forth 
Their  sweet  mysterious  flow. 

Waking,  thy  thoughts  are  not  of  me : 
Shall  dreams  the  boon  bestow  ? 

Still  it  was  ecstasy  to  catch 

That  dear,  though  "careless  word." 
How  oft  by  one  low-uttered  tone, 

The  heart's  deep  springs  are  stirred  ! 

I  woke  :  the  rapture  was  dispelled, 
With  morning's  golden  beam ; 

As  life's  most  fair  and  dazzling  joys 
Prove  oft  a  fading  dream. 


HYMN    TO    NATURE.  178 


HYMN  TO  NATURE. 

HAIL,  glorious  Nature  !  in  thy  form 

What  grace  and  glory  lie, 
The  weary  spirit  to  entrance, 

And  charm  the  wondering  eye  ! 
How  dear,  when  summer  friends  grow  cold, 

And  disappoint  our  trust, 
To  hold  sweet  fellowship  with  thee, 

The  tender  and  the  just ! 

The  trusting  soul  to  thee  may  turn, 

Nor  doubt  thy  radiant  smile  : 
There  beats  no  heart,  beneath  its  light, 

Of  malice  or  of  guile. 
Gentle  as  ever  loving  child, 

And  faithful  as  thy  God, 
Thy  love  makes  glad  the  lowliest  one 

That  treads  thy  verdant  sod. 

Thou  with  the  stamp  of  fadeless  youth 

Upon  thy  loveliness, 
Wearest  thy  green  and  glorious  robe, 

Even  as  a  festal  dress. 
Time,  that  beneath  his  ruthless  sway 

The  stateliest  form  will  bow, 
Leaves  not  the  shadow  of  a  change 

Upon  thy  queenly  brow. 

Thou  bright  and  blessed  !  make  us  each 
Thy  gracious  influence  feel, 


188  FOEMS. 

And  to  our  spirits'  inmost  depths 
Thy  Source  and  Soul  reveal. 

Teach  us  the  signet  of  His  hand 
On  thy  pure  page  to  trace  : 

So  may  our  trusting  souls  secure 
The  treasures  of  His  grace. 


THE  EARLY  DEAD. 

FLOWERS  for  the  early  dead ! 
The  rose,  the  lily,  and  the  violet  bring, 
Around  their  quiet  resting-place  to  shed, — 

A  precious  offering. 

Joy  for  the  early  dead  ! 
Joy  for  the  meed  of  perfect  rapture  given, 
Earth's  phantom  flash  before  that  beam  has  fled, 

Full-orbed  and  bright,  of  heaven. 

Smiles  for  the  early  dead ! 
We  grieve  not  when,  his  day  of  labor  o'er, 
The  weary  peasant  bows  his  fainting  head 

At  his  low  cottage  door. 

Tears  for  the  early  dead ! 
The  bright  and  beautiful  from  earth  set  free  : 
Yes !  drop  upon  their  flower-encircled  bed 

Tears  of  sweet  ecstasy. 


AN  APPEAL  FOR  SEAMEN.  189 

Prayers  for  the  early  dead ! 
Of  fervent  thanksgiving  and  holy  trust, 
Through  Him,  the  Conqueror  over  death,  be  said, 

Above  their  sleeping  dust 

Songs  for  the  early  dead ! 
Wherewith  to  cheer  the  heart  of  sorrowing  love. 
They  sweep  their  golden  harps  with  those  who  tread 

Celestial  courts  above. 

Thus  crown  the  early  dead, 
Whose  grave  is  even  as  a  hallowed  shrine. 
With  all  pure  things  and  bright  their  names  are  wed, 

In  union  most  divine. 


AN  APPEAL  FOR  SEAMEN. 

FOR  those  who,  faint  and  lone, 
In  sunshine  and  in  storm  their  vigils  keep, 
And  fearless  brave  the  dangers  of  the  deep, 

We  raise  the  pleading  tone  : 
Ye  who  can  boast  a  shrine,  a  hearth,  a  home, 
Forget  not  those  "  a  world  of  waves  "  who  roam. 

They  bear  from  every  shore, 
The  ice-bound  cliff  and  India's  burning  strand, 
A  tide  of  wealth  and  glory  to  our  land  : 
17 


190  POEMS. 

They  waft  the  golden  store, 
The  fragrant  spice,  the  diamond's  flashing  ray, 
The  midnight  glare  that  mocks  the  light  of  day. 

List  to  the  breathing  voice, 

Thou  in  whose  path  wealth's  glittering  gifts  are  spread  ! 
Rest  the  worn  frame,  and  raise  the  drooping  head  ; 

The  sorrowing  soul  rejoice  : 
Wealth  the  uncounted,  endless,  shall  be  thine, 
And  peace  fold  o'er  thy  heart  its  wing  divine. 

And  thou,  whose  gift  may  be 
As  one  lone  drop  upon  the  desert  plain, 
Thou  shalt  not  find  the  humble  offering  vain  : 

A  blessing  waits  for  thee. 
Was  not  the  widow's  mite  received  by  Him 
Within  whose  sight  earth's  heartless  glare  grows  dim  ? 

Then  with  your  gifts  of  love, 
Come,  at  the  shrine  of  mercy  to  appear ; 
Come,  and  the  weary,  sorrowing  spirit  cheer ; 

And  to  the  shrine  above 
The  gracious  deed  as  incense  shall  be  given, 
And  be  your  passport  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 


LIFE.  191 


LIFE. 

"  O  nostra  vita  !  ch  'e  si  bella  in  vista." 

AT  day's  sweet  dawn,  the  traveler's  feet 
Shrink  not  his  destined  path  to  meet ; 
While,  blithe  and  gay,  his  earnest  eye 
Nor  cloud  nor  danger  can  descry. 

Sweet  flowers  perfume  his  dewy  way ; 
The  sun  sheds  down  his  golden  ray ; 
And  birds  breathe  forth  their  matin  song, 
His  heart's  deep  rapture  to  prolong. 

Fresh  hopes  new  dreams  of  beauty  wake  ; 
Fresh  charms  upon  his  vision  break  : 
The  glowing  sky,  the  scented  air, 
Alike  bring  peace  and  gladness  there. 

Thus  is  it  with  life's  fitful  dream : 
In  youth,  its  visioned  glories  beam 
With  hopes  as  fair,  and  ray  as  bright, 
As  usher  in  morn's  welcome  light ; 

As  cloudless  suns  the  sky  illume, 
And  flowers  as  bright  the  air  perfume  ; 
Music  awakes  a  strain  as  sweet, 
The  pilgrim's  listening  ear  to  greet. 

What  though  life's  radiant  dreams  decay, 
As  visions  fade  at  break  of  day  ? 


192 


POEMS. 

Though  time's  sad  trophies  we  behold, 
And  Faith  grows  dim,  and  Hope  is  cold  ? 

A  day  shall  burst  upon  our  sight, 
Gemmed  with  the  rays  of  heavenly  light ; 
And  gloom  before  those  beams  shall  flee, 
Whose  fountain  is  eternity. 


"THEN  SHALL  THE  DUST  RETURN  TO  THE  EARTH 
AS  IT  WAS,  AND  THE  SPIRIT  SHALL  RETURN  TO 
GOD  WHO  GAVE  IT." 


THANKS  for  the  promise  given  ! 
Low  at  Thy  throne,  Eternal  One  !  we  bend, 
And  with  our  gushing  tears  our  praise  would  blend. 

To  Thee,  the  High  in  heaven, 
In  humble  confidence  our  souls  we  raise  : 
Thine  be  our  grateful  prayer,  our  solemn  praise. 

Father !  the  flesh  is  weak 
To  bear  the  burden  of  Thy  chastening  hand. 
Who  in  Thy  presence,  Mighty  One !  can  stand  ? 

Speak,  Gracious  Father !  speak  ! 
Let  love's  low-breathing  tones  our  anguish  heal : 
Thine  arm,  omnipotent  to  bless,  reveal* 


THEN  SHALL  THE  DUST  RETURN,  ETC.       193 

Not  o'er  her  peaceful  sleep, — 
Not  that  the  glorious  guerdon  of  the  blest 
Has  led  our  loved  one  to  her  heavenly  rest, 

The  gushing  tear  we  weep. 
But  for  the  stricken  hearts  left  mourning  here, 
Fond  nature  sheds  the  unavailing  tear. 

We  bear  to  kindred  dust 

The  dwelling  whence  the  immortal  guest  has  fled. 
Hope's  quenchless  beam  is  on  its  ashes  shed ; 

While  we,  in  holy  trust, 
Cling  to  the  pledge  by  inspiration  given,  — 
The  spirit  shall  return  to  God  and  heaven. 

Eternal  Spirit !  Thou 

Whose  dread  command  these  living  temples  formed, 
Whose  breathing  energy  our  spirits  warmed, — 

Thou  to  whom  death  must  bow, 
When  earth,  and  sin,  and  death  have  passed  away, 
Receive  our  souls  to  everlasting  day. 


17* 


194 


POEMS. 


THE  BRIDAL. 

THE  breath  of  prayer  ascends  to  Heaven,     , 

While  hearts  in  homage  bow, 
And  a  gentle  form  is  kneeling  there, 

To  breathe  her  bridal  vow. 
With  a  brow  as  meek,  a  heart  as  warm, 

As  the  humblest  in  her  land, 
The  royal  maiden  plights  her  troth, 

With  a  true  but  trembling  hand. 

Not  wealth  or  rank  alone  she  gives, 

Though  bright  the  baubles  shine  ; 
But  a  heart  is  in  the  maiden's  hand, 

Priceless  as  love's  own  mine. 
What  a  holy  gush  of  joy  wells  forth 

From  her  soul's  deep  tenderness, 
As  steal  those  words  upon  her  ear, 

Which  her  inmost  spirit  bless  ! 

Blessings  upon  thy  future  way, 

Thou  of  a  kingly  line  ! 
May  the  flame  that  lights  thy  young  heart  now 

E'er  feed  the  holy  shrine ! 
Nor  be  the  wealth  of  thy  tenderness 

Thrown  back  on  the  lonely  heart, 
Which  sees,  with  silent  misery, 

The  star  of  its  hopes  depart. 

But  true  as  shines  heaven's  radiant  arch, 
Be  that  undying  beam, 


THE   RETURNING   WANDERER.  195 

Which  makes  the  light  of  departing  age 

Brighter  than  youth's  gay  dream. 
And  though,  at  the  wizard  touch  of  death, 

The  holiest  ties  are  riven, . 
Love's  mystic  chain  but  parts  on  earthr 

To  be  clasped  more  close  in  heaven. 


THE   RETURNING  WANDERER. 

WELCOME  !  thou  blessed  spot ! 
Too  long  my  feet  the  stranger's  soil  have  pressed. 
Long  viewless,  but,  O  !  never  yet  forgot, 

I  seek  thy  blissful  rest. 

Welcome  !  my  childhood's  home ! 
How  doth  my  soul  with  voiceless  rapture  burn ! 
Once  more  thy  well-remembered  haunts  to  roam, 

My  wandering  footsteps  turn. 

Before  the  shrine  I  bow, 
Holy  and  hallowed  by  the  air  of  heaven, 
Where  by  the  covenant  of  baptismal  vow, 

My  soul  to  God  was  given. 

My  spirit  leaps  to  greet 
Its  altar  fires,  its  music  rich  and  rare, 


196  POEMS. 

And  listen  to  the  breathings  low  and  sweet, 
Borne  on  the  wing  of  prayer. 

And  thou,  upon  whose  breast, 
Peaceful  I  slept  in  helpless  infancy, 
Whose  voice  in  dreams  I  hear,  mother  most  blest ! 

Weary  I  turn  to  thee. 

When  on  the  billowy  deep, 
Through  cloud  and  storm  my  watery  path  I  trod, 
Thine  eye  around  my  way  its  watch  did  keep, 

Thou  ever  blessed  God ! 

When  death's  dread  power  was  nigh, 
Thy  guardian  love  my  life  unharmed  hath  kept, 
While  fond  affection  o'er  the  dying  eye, 

In  speechless  sorrow  wept. 

Therefore  to  Thee  I  raise, 
To  Thee,  whence  mercy  and  deliverance  came, 
With  filial  gratitude,  a  song  of  praise, 

And  bless  Thy  hallowed  name. 

Guide  me  in  safety  through 

Earth's  wanderings,  till  death's  narrow  way  be  pressed  ; 
And  the  sweet  founts  and  pastures  green  I  view 

Of  my  eternal  rest. 


SPRING.  197 


SPRING. 

WELCOME  !  O  blessed  Spring ! 

Grateful  to  thee  I  sing, 
Whose  voice  can  bid  our  secret  anguish  cease. 

Visit  each  lonely  shrine 

With  music  most  divine  : 
Whisper  of  sweetest  hope  and  gentlest  peace. 

Yet  many  a  heart  in  tears, 

Thine  airy  footstep  hears. 
Thoughts  of  long-vanished  joys  come  back  with  thee  ; 

And  from  the  soul's  deep  cells 

A  strain  of  sadness  swells, 
To  mingle  with  thy  breathing  melody. 

Above  their  lowly  dead, 

The  silent  tear  is  shed, 
As  fall  the  silvery  dews  on  thy  young  flowers. 

Nor  will  thy  angel  smile 

Their  secret  grief  beguile, 
Nor  chase  the  shadows  from  their  weary  hours. 

But  with  a  mystic  voice, 
That  bids  my  soul  rejoice, 
Thou  visitest  my  path  by  night  and  day. 
How  blessed  is  thy  light, 
Which  beams  o'er  death's  dark  night, 
sheds  a  glory  o'er  earth's  pilgrim  way  I- 


198  POEMS. 

Thanks  that  the  sweet  perfume 

Of  nature's  radiant  bloom 
Comes  yet  again  new  beauty  to  impart. 

Thanks  that  I  hear  again 

The  soft  and  soothing  strain, 
Whose  heaven-taught  harmonies  make  glad  my  heart. 

Yet  shall  the  spirit  raise 

A  holier  song  of  praise, 
For^gifts  more  fair  are  borne  upon  thy  wing,  — 

Breathings  of  that  bright  clime 

Beyond  the  touch  of  time, 
Where  blooms  and  blossoms  an  eternal  Spring. 

Thy  glory  droops  and  dies  ; 

But  on  its  grave  there  lies 
A  sunbeam  from  the  skies  that  have  no  night. 

Earth's  bloom  shall  melt  away, 

Yet  shall  its  fading  ray 
Brighten  again  in  realms  of  endless  light. 


DEATH-BED  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH.        199 


THE   DEATH-BED  OF  GlUEEN  ELIZABETH. 

RESTLESS  she  lies  upon  her  couch,  England's  anointed 

Queen, 
She  of  the  bold  and  iron  will,  of  stern  and  haughty 

mien. 
Feeble   as   ever  helpless  child,  she   draws   her   failing 

breath, 
And  she  who  human  power  defied,  bows  at  the  call  of 

death. 

His  hand  of  ice  is  on  her  heart,  his  breath  upon  her 
brow: 

Where  is  her  might,  that  ruthless  one  ?  what  is  her  scep- 
tre now  ? 

What  boots  it  that  by  sea  and  shore,  the  conquering  cry 
ascends, 

And  with  her  name,  the  maiden  Queen,  the  song  of  tri- 
umph blends  ? 

Why  struggles  thus  her  trembling  frame,  as  seized  with 

sudden  dread  ? 
Why  in  the  cushion's  downy  depths  hides  she  her  haughty 

head  ? 
Rank  showers  its  honors  on  her  head,  nor  brings  her 

soul  release  ; 
Wealth  lays  its  treasures  at  her  feet,  —  it  cannot  purchase 

peace. 


200  POEMS. 

O  !  such  a  glance  of  agony  was  in  that  fearful  eye, 
As  though  arrayed  in  fleshly  robe,  the  pale-browed  king 

were  nigh. 
The  lowliest  subject  in  her  realm  at  his  stern  call  might 

bow, 
Nor  wear  such  fixed  and  lone  despair  upon  his  pallid 

brow. 

Well  may  deep  dread  the  spirit  seize,  the  eye  with  fear 

dilate  : 
What  to  the  guilty  shall  avail  'the  splendors  of  their 

state  ? 
The  shades  of  vanished  years  before  her  mental  vision 

pass, 
Reflected  with   unerring  truth  from  Memory's  faithful 

glass. 

Beside  her  couch  a  vision  stands  of  rich  and  queenlike 

grace ; 
And  truth  and  goodness  sit  enthroned  upon  her  youthful 

face. 

She  rises,  radiant  with  the  spell  of  love's  celestial  light, 
The  worshiped  idol  of  a  court,  the  beautiful,  the  bright. 

Kings  bow  in  homage  at  her  feet,  their  fealty  to  pay  ; 
The  minstrel  breathes  upon  her  ear  his  soul-entrancing 

lay. 
Shrined  in  a  nation's  heart,  the  theme  of  story  and  of 

song, 
Yet  warmly  loved  of  all,  most  bright  amid  a  princely 

throng. 


THE   DEATH-BED   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH.  201 

A  moment,  and  the  cloud  has  drooped  upon  her  glorious 
brow; 

Her  cheek  is  pale  with  care,  her  eye  is  dim  with  weep- 
ing now : 

Yet  peerless,  though  the  woes  of  years  have  bowed  her 
spirit  down, 

As  when  there  shone  upon  that  brow  a  monarch's  jew- 
eled crown. 

Where  was  thy  sympathy,  thou  skilled  in  cold  and  treach- 
erous art  ? 

Stern  one !  hadst  thou  no  woman's  love  within  thy 
woman's  heart  ? 

Such  mingled  grief  and  loveliness  might  win  a  heart  of 
stone  -; 

Yet  nature's  bond  of  fellowship  thy  spirit  did  not  own. 

Lured  by  thy  promises,  she  turned  her  weary  soul  to 

thee: 

Thou  didst  its  guileless  trust  betray,  in  bitter  mockery. 
Meekly,  beneath  the  lifted  steel  she  bowed  her  head  in 

prayer, 
And  left  thy  earth-bound  soul  to  meet  the  depth  of  its 

despair. 

The  past  gives  back  its  shadowy  forms,  the  dust  its 
shrouded  dead, 

And  she,  that  cold  and  voiceless  form,  stands  now  beside 
thy  bed. 

Well  may'st  thou  shrink  in  agony,  guilt-stricken  and  dis- 
mayed, 

Thus  haunted  in  thy  dying  hour  by  her  thine  arts  be- 
trayed. 

18 


202 


POEMS. 


THE  FEEDING  OF   THE  MULTITUDE. 

TWILIGHT  was  deepening  into  sombre  night, 
Along  the  shore  of  Galilee's  fair  sea. 
Its  waters  lay  in  beauteous  repose, 
Save  where  the  gentle  breath  of  evening  raised 
A  ripple  on  its  surface,  while  around, 
Humble,  yet  teeming  with  content  and  joy, 
Rose  the  rude  walls  of  many  a  fisher's  home. 

A  throng,  with  wondering  eye  and  listening  ear, 
Had  gathered  at  the  Master's  side,  intent 
To  see  some  healing  miracle,  and  hear 
The  gracious  words  that  issued  from  his  lips. 
All  day,  in  holy  love  his  feet  had  trod 
Their  path  of  mercy,  bearing  to  the  souls 
Of  that  vast  multitude  the  words  of  peace 
Which  fell  upon  their  ears,  even  as  a  strain 
From  heavenly  harps.     With  sweet  compassion  moved, 
The  dying  frame  he  healed,  strengthened  the  weak, 
And  whispered  comfort  to  the  sorrowing  soul : 
Nor  this  alone. 

Of  that  fair  home  he  spoke,  — 
The  Infinite,  Unseen,  the  land  of  peace, 
The  blessed  kingdom,  where  the  "  pure  in  heart 
Shall  see  their  God."     What  marvel  that  the  eye 
Gazed  all  entranced  upon  his  face  ?  the  ear 
Drank  in  the  holy  yet  mysterious  tones 
Which  told  of  such  seraphic  blessedness  ? 
Well  might  they  herald  him  Judea's  king, 


THE  FEEDING  OF  THE  MULTITUDE.       203 

Whose  hand  unbarred  the  doors  of  heaven,  who  bade 
Their  vision  gaze  on  the  unclouded  light 
Revealed  within. 

The  day  was  now  far  spent, 
Yet  pensive  eve,  with  soft  and  balmy  breath, 
Scarce  wooed  their  ravished  spirits  to  repose, 
So  deep  and  holy  was  the  spell  that  breathed 
From  the  Redeemer's  words.     His  followers  came, 
And  prayed  him  speedily  to  send  away 
The  famished  multitudes.     With  gentle  voice 
He  turned,  unheeding  their  request,  and  said, 
"  Let  them  not  go,  but  give  ye  them  to  eat." 
With  glance  astonished  on  the  Master's  face 
They  gazed,  and  answered,  "  See  our  scanty  store,  — 
Five  loaves  and  two  small  fishes.     What  are  they 
Among  so  many  ?  " 

"  Bring  them  unto  me," 
The  Saviour  said  :  then  to  the  throne  of  God 
In  fervent  prayer  his  eye  he  raised,  and  asked 
His  Father's  blessing  on  the  humble  meal. 

Faith  !  Prayer  !  O !  what  a  holy  might  is  yours  I 
Ye  have  unloosed  the  gates  of  death,  brought  back 
To  earth  the  soul  released  from  its  embrace, 
Eyes  to  the  blind  have  given,  bade  the  dumb 
Break  forth  in  strains  of  fervent  thanksgiving, 
And  have  brought  near  to  man  thy  holy  mount, 
Jerusalem  !  "  the  mother  of  us  all !  " 

He  gave  to  his  disciples  :  they  in  turn 
Dispensed  it  to  the  seated  multitude. 


204  POEMS. 

But,  lo !  can  thought  conceive,  can  language  tell, 
The  glory  beaming  mid  that  wondering  host  ? 
An  angel  seemed  amid  their  ranks  to  glide. 
Speechless  they  gazed,  for  mingled  love  and  awe 
Had  settled  on  their  souls,  as  heavenly  guests. 
From  mouth  to  mouth  the  scanty  portion  spread, 
Miraculously  multiplied,  nor  ceased 
Till  all  were  fed  ;  when  of  the  fragments  left, 
Twelve  basketsful  were  gathered. 

Ye  might  well 

Gaze  on  that  miracle  of  wondrous  might, 
Ye  unbelieving  hearts,  while  from  your  lips 
The  exulting  shout  went  up,  proclaiming  him 
The  Prophet-King,  the  Shiloh,  long  foretold 
By  ancient  seers. 

Jesus,  "  Thou  Bread  of  life  !  " 
With  food  eternal  feed  our  famished  souls ; 
Nor  let  our  footsteps  faint,  nor  faith  grow 
Till  upon  Zion's  hill  with  thee  we  stand. 


I   SEE  THEE   NOT.  205 


I  SEE  THEE  NOT. 

*     *     "  WHEN  thou  wast  far  away, 
Sharing  the  traveler's  toilsome  lot, 

Deem'dst  thou  that  this,  thy  natal  day, 
By  kindred  hearts  was  e'er  forgot  ? 

Ah,  no  !  it  but  returned  to  see 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  with  thee." 

I  see  thee  not :  yet  on  the  heart 

Thine  image  seems  to  fall ; 
And  dreams  whose  light  can  ne'er  depart, 

Affection  will  recall. 
Linked  are  the  joys  of  other  hours, 

To  thy  loved  memory, 
The  perfume  of  life's  withered  flowers 

Was  sweeter  shared  with  thee. 

I  see  thee  not :  the  stranger's  shore 

Thy  weary  footsteps  press. 
Turn  to  thy  vacant  place  once  more, 

Kindred  and  home  to  bless. 
Our  anxious  love  has  missed  too  long 

The  sunlight  of  thy  smile. 
Hushed  is  the  voice  whose  pleasant  song 

Our  sorrow  could  beguile. 

I  see  thee  not ;  but  prayer  ascends 
From  hearts  "  left  drooping  "  here, 

And  with  thy  name  its  incense  blends, 
Absent !  yet  still  how  dear ! 
18* 


206  POEMS. 

When  clouds  are  round  thy  distant  way, 
God  keep  thy  soul  in  love  ; 

While  beams  upon  its  gloom  a  ray,  — 
The  glory  from  above. 


THE   LOSS   OF   THE  STEAMER   LEXINGTON. 
"  We  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth. n 

FLED  like  the  horrors  of  a  fearful  dream, 

The  secrets  of  that  dark  and  awful  night. 

The  sun  in  glorious  majesty  went  down, 

Shedding  the  splendors  of  his  parting  beam 

O'er  the  expanse  of  sky,  and  land,  and  sea. 

Forth  on  the  yielding  wave  the  bounding  bark, 

Exulting  as  an  uncaged  bird  to  cleave 

With  golden  wing  its  airy  element, 

Moved  in  the  pride  of  queenly  dignity. 

And  hearts  beat  there  whose  gems  of  truth  and  love 

Outshone  the  wealth  of  Eastern  argosy. 

Hope,  the  fond  priestess  at  affection's  shrine, 

Awaited  each  returning  wanderer, 

While  Love  grew  breathless  from  excess  of  bliss. 

How  little  know  we,  when  the  heart  beats  high 

With  joy's  untold,  unutterable  strength, 

What  the  dim  future  has  in  store  to  blight 

Life's  fairest  bloom,  and  hope's  most  radiant  dreams  ! 


THE    LOSS    OF   THE   STEAMER    LEXINGTON.  207 

Morn  broke  in  glory  where  the  sun  had  set 

In  peace.     That  gallant  bark,  which  proudly  trod 

Her  onward  path,  and  seemed  to  set  at  nought 

The  strength  of  man,  and  almost  to  repel, 

In  scorn,  the  arm  of  the  Omnipotent, 

Where  had  it  vanished,  with  its  wealth  of  mind  ? 

Had  the  pure  breeze  of  heaven,  with  gentle  breath, 

Borne  it  in  triumph  to  its  destined  port  ? 

Had  heart  met  heart  in  bliss,  around  that  shrine 

Made  sacred  by  the  hallowing  name  of  home  ?• 

Not  such  the  dark  reality  ;  but  grief 

Imprints  no  trace  upon  the  treacherous  wave, 

Nor  leaves  its  record  on  the  sea-washed  sand. 

Else  might  a  pen  of  living  flame  have  stamped, 

Deeply,  indelibly,  its  impress  there. 

What  precious  hopes  were  blighted,  what  sweet  dreams 

Were  to  the  hours  of  waking  anguish  changed, 

When  goodness,  beauty,  youth  and  age  were  borne 

Trophies  to  gem  the  silent  halls  of  death  ! 

Thither  the  pride  of  manhood,  and  the  grace 

Of  matron  beauty,  and  the  uncounted  wealth 

Garnered  within  a  mother's  love,  went  down. 

The  eagle  glance  of  youth,  the  fearless  eye 

Of  childhood's  holy  confidence  are  closed 

In  that  hushed  sleep  which  knows  no  waking  hour, 

Save  in  the  clime  where  death  is  all  unknown. 

And  thou.  O  man  of  God  !  what  yearning  thoughts 

Cluster  around  thy  lowly  ocean-grave  ! 

What  fervor  of  devotion,  what  sublime 

And  spirit-stirring  powers  of  mind  were  thine  ! 

Thy  voice,  as  though  an  angel's  harp  had  lent 


208  POEMS. 

The  music  of  its  chords  to  mortal  tongue, 

Fell  on  the  listening  ear,  and  charmed  the  soul. 

We  hear  no  more  its  meek  yet  earnest  tones, 

In  fervent  prayer  within  God's  earthly  courts. 

Amid  angelic  hosts  thy  strains  are  heard, 

Hymning  the  praises  of  the  Eternal  One. 

Nor  by  his  side,  thy  brother  and  thy  friend, 

Shall  calmly  rest  thy  precious  ashes,  where 

Mount  Auburn  sheds  its  perfume  on  the  breeze, 

Wooing  earth's  pilgrim  traveler  to  repose, 

Mid  Spring's  sweet  bloom  and  Autumn's  glorious  hues, 

On  the  calm  bosom  of  his  mother  earth. 

Love  on  the  marble  cenotaph  shall  trace 

The  spotless  record  of  thy  faithfulness, 

While  nature  rears  its  monument  of  waves 

Above  the  nameless  spot  where  sleeps  thy  dust. 

Rest  ye  in  peace,  ye  sleepers  of  the  deep ! 
Oft  shall  the  tear-dimmed  eye,  as  pensive  eve 
Sheds  o'er  the  soul  sweet  memories  of  the  past, 
Turn  to  that  lone  and  lowly  resting-place  ;- 
While  faith  reposes  in  implicit  trust 
On  the  sure  promise  of  Omnipotence  : 
The  sea  shall  yield  its  dead,  and  buried  Love 
And  Love  left  sorrowing  o'er  its  wreck  of  bliss, 
Shall  meet  again  in  rapture* 

So  tread  on 

The  remnant  of  your  earthly  pilgrimage, 
Ye  who  have  seen  life's  fairest  hopes  decay, 
Counting  each  cloud  that  lowers  above  your  head 
But  as  a  curtaining  veil  which  death  shall  rend, 
And  to  his  children's  eye  the  smile  reveal 


ON  THE   DEATH    OF   THE    REV.  DR.  KIRKLAND.        209 

Of  Love  Divine,  —  viewing  each  thorn  that  mars 
Your  pathway  as  a  flower  to  make  more  bright 
The  amaranth  wreath  which  crowns  the  sons  of  God. 
None  are  so  near  the  golden  gate  of  heaven 
As  those  whose  spirits  have  been  rendered  pure 
By  sanctified  afflictions.     So  pass  on, 
Till  ye  awake  from  earth's  short,  feverish  dream, 
To  share  the  blissful  day  which  knows  no  night. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE   REV.  DR.  KIRKLAND. 

A  DIRGE-NOTE  and  the  sigh  of  grief  are  borne  upon  the  air ; 
Yet  blended  with  faith's  lofty  notes  and  with  the  breath 

of  prayer. 
The  good  man  to  the  earth  hath  bowed  his  loved  and 

honored  head, 
While  to  its  full,  eternal  joy  the  immortal  mind  hath  fled. 

How  oft  in  unbowed  strength,  his  step  that  sacred  path 

has  trod, 
Bearing  unto  expectant    souls  good  tidings  from  their 

God!. 
And  now  death's  dim  and  shadowy  veil  has  fallen  on  his 

brow, 
And  we  in  silent  reverence  here  above  his  ashes  bow. 


210  POEMS. 

How  often  on  this  very  spot  the  bread  of  life  he 
broke, 

And  of  the  Master's  matchless  love  with  sweet  compas- 
sion spoke  ; 

The  mourner's  stricken  spirit  cheered,  and  raised  the 
drooping  head, 

And  peace  within  the  contrite  heart,  as  balm  of  healing 
shed! 

Hark !  from  "  Old  Harvard's "  classic  walls,  time- 
hallowed  and  revered, 

By  many  a  name  of  lofty  worth  to  fame  and  love  en- 
deared, 

A  tone  is  wafted  to  the  ear,  of  blended  grief  and  praise  : 

Learning  and  meek-eyed  piety  their  mingling  incense 
raise. 

His  presence  graced  her  loftiest  seat,  and  yet  no  eye 

could  see 

A  shade  of  pride  come  o'er  that  brow  of  rare  humility. 
Her  fame  was  precious  to  his  soul,  and  with  a  parent's 

care 
He  raised  his  voice  to  Heaven  for  her  in  supplicating 

prayer. 

And  now,  in  filial  grief,  around  his  silent  bier  to  stand, 
Her  sons  come  forth,  the  wise,  the  good,  the  gifted  of 

the  land. 
How  truly  honored  in  his  life,  their  swelling  hearts  can 

say, 
Who  gather  round  his  coffined  rest,  their  meed  of  love  to 

pay! 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF   THE    REV.  DR.  KIRKLAND.        211 

The  depths  of  memory  are  stirred ;  her  eagle  flight  she 

takes : 
Thoughts  of  my  childhood's  vanished  years  this  solemn 

hour  awakes. 
I  hear  again  the  notes  of  prayer,  my  head  .in  reverence 

bow, 
And  feel  once  more  that  hand  in  love  pressed  gently  on 

my  brow. 

O !  if  in  that  most  sacred  hour  the  seal  of  God  was  given, 
To  be  my  passport  when  I  reach  the  shining  gates  of 

heaven, 
How  should  I  turn  me  in  my  joy,  his  honored  name  to 

bless, 
Whose  hand  unto  my  soul  revealed  such  perfect  happiness ! 

Now  that  the  pleasant  smile  is  gone,  and  hushed  the 

gentle  voice, 
Whose  accents  had  such  magic  power  the  sorrowing  to 

rejoice, 

His  virtues,  —  let  them  ever  beam  with  undecaying  ray, 
To  shed  their  fragrance  and  their  bloom  around   our 

future  way. 

Rest  thee,thou  faithful  patriarch !  rest!  with  kindly  heart 

and  true, 

Thy  hand  performed  the  holy  work  appointed  thee  to  do  : 
And  now  the  fulness  of  His  love,  whose  servant  thou 

hast  been, 
Beams  all  unclouded  on  thine  eye,  in  majesty  serene. 


212  POEMS. 


SABBATH  HYMN. 

THIS  day  let  grateful  praise  ascend 

To  Thee,  our  Father  and  our  Friend ! 

Thee,  Author  of  this  holy  light, 

Thee,  throned  in  boundless  power  and  might. 

To  Thee  its  morning  light  be  given, 
The  noontide  blaze,  the  dew  of  even ; 
And  may  its  silent  night-watch  be 
Devoted,  Mighty  One  !  to  Thee  ! 

Let  no  vain  words  of  homage  rise, 
An  empty,  heartless  sacrifice  ; 
Or  clouds  of  breathing  incense  swell, 
The  pomp  of  human  pride  to  tell. 

The  silent  prayer,  the  contrite  sigh, 
The  chastened  heart,  the  filial  eye, 
Shall  rise,  a  holier  gift  to  Thee, 
And  at  Thy  throne  accepted  be. 

O !  let  the  sacred  hours  be  given 
To  truth,  to  duty,  and  to  heaven ; 
While  trusting  faith  and  holy  love 
Rise  fervent  to  thy  throne  above. 

Grant  that  our  earthly  Sabbaths  be 
But  dawnings  of  eternity, 
To  shadow  forth  that  glorious  rest, 
The  heavenly  quiet  of  the  blest. 


A  MOTHER'S  COUNSEL.  213 


A  MOTHER'S  COUNSEL. 


"  Whatever  weakens  your  reason,  impairs  the  tenderness  of  your 
conscience,  obscures  your  sense  of  God,  or  takes  off  the  relish  of 
spiritual  things;  in  short,  whatever  increases  the  strength  and 
authority  of  your  body  over  your  mind,  that  thing  is  sin  to  you, 
however  innocent  it  may  be  in  itself." 

THE  MOTHER  OF  JOHN  WESLEY. 


WHATEVER  dims  thy  sense  of  truth, 

Or  stains  thy  purity, 
Though  light  as  breath  of  summer  air, 

Count  it  as  sin  to  thee. 

Let  not  the  world  thy  God  dethrone 

Or  from  his  smile  divide ; 
And  count,  compared  with  heavenly  wealth, 

As  dross  all  things  beside. 

Dim  not  the  crystal  of  thy  soul 

By  sin's  destroying  breath  : 
There  lurks  beneath  its  siren  smile 

Dark  treachery  and  death. 

Preserve  the  tablet  of  thy  thoughts 

From  every  blemish  free, 
While  the  Redeemer's  lowly  faith 

Its  temple  makes  with  thee. 

And  pray  of  God,  that  grace  be  given 
To  tread  time's  narrow  way : 
19 


214  FO£MS. 


How  dark  soever  it  may  be, 
It  leads  to  cloudless  day* 


THE  SON  OF  GODl 

NOT  within  palace-halls 

The  holy  Infant  lay ; 
And  yet  upon  those  lowlier  walls 

Beamed  a  celestial  ray ; 
For  there  God's  well-beloved  Child 
Reposed,  —  the  holy,  undefined  ! 

Not  on  a  downy  bed 

Did  the  Redeemer  lie  ; 
He  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head 
Beneath  that  Eastern  sky  ; 
And  yet  earth's  desert  wastes  he  trodr 
One  with  his  Father  and  his  God ; — 

One  in  that  holy  love 

Which  his  whole  nature  filled.: 
His  was  the  meekness  of  the  dove ; 

Yet  from  his  lips  distilled 
Wisdom  which  earth  can  never  reach,  — 
Wisdom  which  Heaven  alone  can  teach. 


THE   SON   OF   GOD.  215 

Sin  had  no  power  to  dim 

The  radiance  of  his  brow : 
Earth  with  its  glories  tempted  him, 

His  soul  they  could  not  bow ; 
But  the  unsounded  depths  of  truth 
Fed  the  glad  fountains  of  his  youth. 

Within  his  soul  he  bore 

God's  undisputed  sign ; 
His  seal  upon  his  brow  he  wore, 

Mysterious,  yet  divine. 
Angels  of  spotless  purity 
Left  their  bright  homes  his  guard  to  be. 

The  blind  received  their  sight 

At  his  commanding  word  : 
Guided  by  truth's  celestial  light, 

The  soul's  far  depths  he  stirred. 
The  earth  gave  back  its  icy  dead  ; 
Disease  his  mandate  heard,  and  fled. 

Saviour !  be  thou  my  guide, 

My  refuge  and  my  rest ! 
Cast  down  the  pillars  of  my  pride, 

And  in  my  humbled  breast 
Erect  the  temple  of  thy  grace  ; 
And  on  its  shrine  thy  signet  trace* 


216  POEMS. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

A  SWEET  and  blessed  strain  they  swell, 

The  glorious-tinted  flowers, 
On  sunny  slope,  in  shaded  dell, 

To  cheer  our  weary  hours. 

Their  fragrant  odors  rise  to  heaven 

In  homage  and  in  prayer ; 
Silent  the  dewy  incense  given, 

Yet  God  is  hallowed  there. 

Bring  them  to  strew  around  your  dead, 

To  shine  above  their  tomb  : 
Bright  presage  from  their  hues  is  -shed 

Of  heaven's  immortal  bloom. 

They  woo  us  with  their  balmy  breath 
To  summer  bowers  on  high ; 

They  point  us  from  decay  and  death 
To  flowers  which  never  die. 

Praise  to  Thee,  Brightener  of  our  hours  ! 

For  this  sweet  ministry, 
Which  by  the  breath  of  Thy  fair  flowers 

Is  leading  us  to  Thee. 


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